


Growing Up A Shelby

by bluerighthand



Series: Growing Up A Shelby AU [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Snr is a terrible father, Blood, Boxing, Bullying, Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Death Threats, Family Fluff, Homophobia, How many police chases can I fit into one fic, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Poverty, Prison, School, Sexism, Tommy's a small gay mess, Tommy's obsession with horses, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerighthand/pseuds/bluerighthand
Summary: Growing up in the Shelby family is a lot of things, but easy isn't one of them.Arthur is discovering violence and alcohol, Tommy's cleverness will get him killed, John is a tiny 4-year-old with a big personality, Ada's a toddler on a mission and Polly is just trying to keep the family running.





	1. 1899

**Author's Note:**

  * For [When_Tommy_Met_Alfie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/gifts), [twistedrunes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/gifts).



> Summary: A school day in 1899. Arthur and John are as crazy as ever, Tommy's tired and Polly needs a drink.
> 
> I've changed an age or two, included some characters the family wouldn't have known at this time, and made up others but there are still elements of canon from the show :)

It was a bright autumn morning in Watery Lane. The sun was shining through the thin grey haze of factory smoke, the air was crisp and cool, and all Polly wanted to do was relax in a hot bath with a glass of whiskey and a good book. Unfortunately, she lived in the Shelby household, which today meant she was rudely awoken by John, who burst into her bedroom at 7am demanding breakfast and his own gun.

Once she’d dragged herself out of bed and dressed, she prayed and collected Ada from the cot in the corner of her room, filling a bottle of milk. Ada babbled quietly, waving her tiny fists around and yawning widely as she awoke. Polly spent a few moments cooing over the chubby toddler, twirling her short curly hair, before the sound of breaking glass silenced John’s laughter from the boy’s room.

“It wasn’t me” said John, the second she entered, balancing Ada on her hip as she surveyed the broken lamp and the glass strewn across the floor. Arthur was looking equally guilty, but Tommy was still, somehow, fast asleep, curled up under his thin green blanket. She glared at the pair of them.

“We can’t afford another one” she said frankly, keeping her voice low so not to startle Tommy awake; it was rare he slept through the night. Too many ideas in that head of his. “You’ll have to sleep in the dark” she threatened, without any real conviction. John still hated sleeping in the dark, not that he’d ever admit it.

Polly would undoubtedly lend them her lamp, until they could scrape enough pennies together. Their room was shadowed, not helped by the dark wallpaper, and crowded, with three beds stuffed into a place meant for one and little room for anything else.

“Sorry Aunt Pol” said Arthur, chewing his bottom lip. “I was just practising for tonight. I’ll get some work and pay for a new one” he promised, looking pointedly at John.

“Sorry” said John, pouting. Polly rolled her eyes, muttering about Arthur’s bloody boxing match, and hurried them to dress for school and fetch a broom for the glass before one of them put their foot in it. She sat on the edge of Tommy’s bed and stroked through his long hair softly, letting Ada crawl over to her brother.

“Tommy” she said, “time to wake up”. He shifted and lent towards her touch, mumbling under his breath. “Tommy” she repeated, shaking his shoulder, “time for school”. Tommy opened his eyes blearily, attempting to sit up, before groaning and flopping back down.

Ada giggled and copied him, lying down on his bed. Polly ran her fingers lightly over Tommy’s side making him squeak and wriggle. She relented, laughing, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Morning. Time to get up” Polly said, attempting to smooth down his ruffled hair.

“Tommy” said Ada, holding her arms out. Tommy pulled his sister into his lap and hugged her, jiggling her up and down to her delight. Polly smiled, before leaving the room and scooping up John, who was playing with a toy horse on the landing.

“Horse” he said, holding the toy up for her inspection.

“Yes. Let’s get you ready” she said, grabbing a clean shirt and trousers from the basket on landing.

 

An hour later, chaos had descended on the household. Arthur was drinking his father’s whiskey straight from the bottle, Ada had thrown up all over Polly’s shirt, Polly had been up and down the stairs more times than she could count and still hadn’t managed to get the boys dressed and ready for the day, made breakfast or shouted at her brother.

Arthur Senior had staggered into the house around 8am, still drunk from a night at the Garrison and a local brothel, reeking of substances and loudly proclaiming his love for a certain part of a woman’s anatomy. Polly got the ‘shout at brother’ task off the to-do list pretty quickly. Arthur was too inebriated to argue back, and lurched into his office, slamming the door behind him and promptly sliding to the floor.

It was hopeless trying to organise anything in this house, and Polly silently despaired over her nephews’ future if they couldn’t even get themselves dressed and out the door at a reasonable hour. Arthur Jnr started cursing loudly, and Polly ran upstairs to find him clutching his foot, blood trickling down his big toe after stepping on the glass that he hadn’t cleaned up.

Her irritation grew further when she saw that Tommy was still in bed. She shook his shoulder hurriedly, Tommy barely stirring, before dragging Arthur downstairs and wrapping his toe in a strip of cloth. In the meantime, John had seemingly decided that Polly’s heels would make excellent school shoes, and was gripping onto the banisters determinately as he shuffled along. She picked him up, shoes dropping to the floor with a clunk, and sent him to collect their school bags from God knows where.

“Come on boys, out” she said, glancing at the clock. “You’re fifteen minutes late!”. It was no wonder.

“I’m ready!” defended Arthur, trying to stuff his arm into Tommy’s jacket, despite it not having fit him for years. Once Polly pointed this out, he found his own jacket and shrugged it on, grinning sheepishly.

“I’m ready too!” said John from where he was crouched on the floor, trying (and failing) to balance a dozing Ada on his toy horse, school bags scattered around his feet. Arthur confiscated his sister.

“Right, Arthur, John, out the door now. And where’s Tommy? Tommy!” Polly called, empty jacket dangling from her hand.

“Tommy was awake really late in the stables” said John in a singsong voice, running in a circle around the others. Arthur rounded on him, aiming a kick but missing spectacularly, probably due to the mouthfuls of whiskey he swigged earlier. Ada yawned and shifted in his arms, but thankfully remained quiet, Polly couldn’t take anymore racket right now.

Frustration set in as she thought about Tommy. Sleeping out in the pasture, under the stars and Curly’s supervision was one thing, but being out in the Small Heath streets late into the night was dangerous. Drunks, criminals, and worse roamed from pub to pub, women advertising their trade at every street corner. Sick covered the ground until it was washed away by driving rain, leaving Tommy soaked and shivering as it dripped through the wooden panels of the stable.

She’d warned him countless times, yet he continued to risk his neck to spend hours with those bloody horses; resulting in deep purple under his eyes and a sore backside when she found out about it. She couldn’t live with herself if anything happened to him. Jane couldn’t take it.

“Don’t be a fucking rat” Arthur said, glaring at John, who had ratted him out on more times than his dignity could take.

“Arthur, language” Polly warned, snapping out of her thoughts and marching up the stairs, not stopping to wonder how John knew Tommy had been awake past his bedtime. The phone rang from the office, and Polly groaned, descending the stairs again to answer it; it wouldn’t do for her brother to ruin what little business they had with his drunkenness.

“Get your brother ready” she pointed a finger at Arthur as she passed.

“Tommy! Get down here you lazy bastard” Arthur called.

“Lazy bastard!” copied John.

“God’s sake” said Arthur. “What the bloody hell is taking him so long? And you’re not ready John, where are your books?” he inquired, peering into John’s empty bag.

“Oh no” said John, dashing off again through the house to look for them.

“And you’re not wearing a jacket!”.

 

Like Ada, Tommy had dozed off again during all the ruckus. However, unlike his little sister, Tommy had school. John ran into their room, jumping on his brother’s bed and shaking him awake, his retrieved school books digging into Tommy’s side. Tommy groaned and pushed him off, rolling over and pulling the blanket over his head.

Sneaking out to the stables to brush and play with the horses at night had become a habit, one he usually got away with, but at 6am that morning Tommy had crept into the house to find John grinning at him from the top of the stairs. Tommy thought brotherly love and a boiled sweet would keep him quiet, but at this age, John was notorious for tattling, and he should have known better than to expect his brother to keep his mouth shut.

“Tommy!” John cried. “Let’s go!” he whined impatiently when Tommy remained still.

“Boys!” said Polly from the hallway. John shoved at Tommy once more before his thundering footsteps sounded down the creaky stairs. “Thomas! Up!” yelled Polly, catching John and trying to wrestle her wriggling nephew into a blazer. Tommy finally appeared at the top of the landing, hair curly and mussed from sleep, rubbing his eyes blearily. “You’re not even dressed” sighed Polly, raising her eyes to the heavens and releasing John, who promptly grabbed his horse toy and ran off again.

Another glance at the clock sent Polly hurtling up the stairs, grabbing Tommy’s upper arm and handing him clean clothes from the basket on the landing. Tommy turned away to dress, but something caught Polly’s eye, and John’s earlier claims were proved correct. 

 “Let me see your feet” she demanded. Tommy looked around, guilt written across his face. She’d bathed all the children the night before, his feet should be clean, or at least as clean as you can get in Birmingham. “Thomas” she warned. He complied, lifting up his feet to show her the dirty soles. She smacked him three times, his arm stinging with pain.

“You’ve been in the stables at night again haven’t you” she said.

“I had to Aunt Pol” he mumbled, looking at her imploringly. “I had to stay with Percy, he was sad because he was footsore”. Polly shook her head.

“I’ve warned you one too many times about this young man”.

“I had to look after him” said Tommy, clutching his arm. “The others were scared of the shouting so I had to stay with them”.

“That shouting should scare you too” she said. Nothing seemed to phase Tommy when horses were involved. His stubbornness could be endearing at times, like when he insisted Polly have a cake on her birthday, or when he refused to let go of Arthur’s hand on his first day of school. But the dangers on the streets were too great to let this continue.

“Get to school” Polly said sternly. “We’ll talk about this later. Straight back here Thomas, no playing out” she called after him as he trudged back into his room to dress, eyes downcast.

 

“I’m hungry, Aunt Pol” said John, tugging at her sleeve as she returned downstairs.

“Oh God, breakfast” she remembered guiltily, hurrying John to the kitchen. It didn’t matter how late they were; she wouldn’t let the boys go hungry if there was a scrap of food in the house. Polly scanned the practically empty cupboards, picking out half a stale loaf of bread Arthur had swiped off a bakery shelf, and slicing it for the boys. Scraping the last remnants of butter out of the pot, she gave each slice a thin coating before calling for the others. Arthur and a slightly more awake Tommy appeared, taking their bread gratefully.

She watched Tommy carefully, making sure he swallowed his portion, and didn’t sneak it to his brothers or abandon it on the table. Tommy looked at the clock. Forty minutes since class started. Arthur watched his brother’s eyes flit from the wall and back again.

“We’re already late Tom, let’s not fucking bother” reasoned Arthur, earning a glare from Polly.

“Arthur, mind your language in front of your brothers” she chastised, spreading butter onto her own slice with more force than necessary. Tommy pinched his wrist.

“We already went this week anyway” said Arthur, around a mouthful of bread. Polly gave him a withering look.

“Well if you’re not going, you can go and take this to your mother” she said, pushing a plate, two pills and a glass of water into Arthur’s hands. “Don’t make a racket, she had a bad night”. Arthur sighed and went up to the top floor, knocking on the door softly. It was quieter up there, so Jane couldn’t hear Arthur Snr’s drunken shouting, or the boys playing a bit too loudly. She seemed to be sleeping when he entered. 

“Mama” he said quietly. Jane opened her eyes a fraction, and smiled, beckoning him forwards. He went to her, and she cupped his face. Her hands were cold and thin, but Arthur leant into the touch and kissed Jane on the cheek before pulling away. “Here’s your breakfast” he said, pushing the plate into her hands. They trembled slightly, but she managed to grip the cracked porcelain, looking at Arthur gratefully.

She glanced at the clock in the corner, brow furrowing slightly. “I’m going to school now Mama” he said quickly, tucking the covers a little tighter around her and glancing over at the fire to check it was still glowing. Jane watched her son, a smile spreading across her face.

“You’re a sweet boy” she whispered, taking a rattling breath. “Don’t get into trouble”.

“I won’t” Arthur promised. He sat with her a moment longer whilst she swallowed her pills, before waving goodbye and closing the door softly behind him. Returning downstairs, he found his brothers and Polly gathered by the door.

“Oh, we’re not actually bloody going are we?” groaned Arthur, annoyed at the prospect of being stuck in mathematics when he could be preparing for his match.

“Yes, you’re bloody going” said Polly. “Whose turn is it today?” she asked, holding out the ragged pair of black shoes the boys shared. They had originally been Arthur Snr’s, when he was a boy. Now the Shelby brothers passed them between them, alternating each day, the others going barefoot and risking a beating at school.

“Arthur’s!” said John. Polly held the shoes out to Arthur, who protested, as he did everyday it was his turn, but reluctantly accepted and pulled them on. They were getting a little tight, and he often worried about splitting them, but so far the tough leather had held out.

“You’re almost an hour late, boys” said Polly, eyebrows raised. John groaned, frustrated at the two beatings he likely had ahead of him.

“Gate closes soon, c’mon school boy” teased Arthur, nudging Tommy, who was hovering near the doorway.

“You better get up early tomorrow” Polly warned, kissing John and Arthur goodbye and fixing Tommy with a stern look, before giving in and ruffling his hair in farewell. “Go on, out”.

 

Tommy grabbed his older brother’s hand as John jumped onto Arthur’s back, and they set off, stones cutting into Tommy’s feet sharply as they hurried down Watery Lane. Arthur’s backpack was swinging from Tommy’s free hand, narrowly avoiding hitting workers as they weaved through the Small Heath streets.

Despite their speed, they were hopelessly late, and the strike of the teacher’s cane against their knuckles was inevitable. With the exception perhaps of Arthur, who seemingly got away with anything. The menacing iron gates were closed as they approached.

“Ah, fuck it” panted Arthur, lowering John to the ground and leaning against the railings as his brothers stared up at the gate and surrounding walls. “Tommy you bloody idiot”. Tommy scowled at his brother, before turning his attention back to the gate. If only there was something to pick the padlock with…

“We could skip?” suggested John, but a look from Tommy said that wasn’t going to happen.

“Your teachers like you” he groaned. “If we skip, it won’t be you getting caned tomorrow”.

“Alright, fine, we won’t skip” said Arthur, recovering and gesturing to the wall. “We’ll go over the top”.

Despite Tommy’s doubts, and suggestions to find a suitable lock-picking-stick, Arthur determinately chucked their backpacks over the wall before giving him a leg up. Tommy tumbled down on the other side, knee grazing the concrete and throbbing sharply. He reached up and caught John, lowering his brother to the ground gently. Arthur managed, at a running jump not helped by his sore toe, to swing a leg over the towering wall, and Tommy helped him down as best he could, Arthur swearing loudly in the process.

They separated and hurried off to class, Tommy and John rushing for the larger schoolhouse and Arthur running to the extension, where the older boys were taught trade and more advanced studies.

Tommy had a complex relationship with school. He was fascinated by many aspects of learning, particularly on the rare occasion that horses were involved, but his poor relationships with his teacher and many of his classmates turned his would be enthusiasm into another dreary task. He reached the doorway of his classroom, and stood on his tiptoes to peer inside.

Mr Roberts, the tall, strict professor, was at the front of the room, pointing emphatically at figures on the blackboard with his cane. His classmates were furiously scribbling numbers onto their slates, with the exception of Billy Kimber and his gang, who lounged in their desks safe in the knowledge that they were the favourites; Roberts’s son was in the group, and could therefore get away with murder. Or more accurately, get away with making Tommy’s life difficult.

They were currently snickering and pointing at Danny Owen, who was sat on a stool wearing the dunce cap in the corner of the classroom.

Freddie Thorne also seemed to have lost concentration, and was staring at the empty desk beside him. Tommy swallowed, knocking thrice before pushing open the heavy door. All eyes locked upon him as he entered, apart from poor Danny, who was still facing the wall. Roberts adjusted his glasses, and fixed him with his beady glare, beckoning Tommy into the room.

“What time do you call this, Shelby?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry I’m late Sir, it won’t happen again” said Tommy, crossing his hands behind his back. There was a script you had to follow at times like these. Arthur had taught him the lines, and he’d taught John.

“This is the third time you’ve been late this fortnight” tutted Roberts, “the likelihood of another lapse in your punctuality is rather high, wouldn’t you say?”. Billy laughed loudly at this, but was silenced with a look. “And where are your shoes?” said Roberts, wrinkling his nose at Tommy’s bare dirty feet.

“My brother is wearing our shoes today, Sir” said Tommy, neck flushing red beneath his collar. Billy snickered again and whispered something to David, seated beside him. David scoffed back, and they both stretched out their legs, their shiny black shoes catching the light. The rest of their row grinned and nudged each other, and soon 6 pairs of immaculate shoes were shining up at Tommy.

Greta and Rosie whispered to each other from the back of the class, sending twin glares towards the boys. Some of the other poor kids, Eamonn and Donal, curled up their toes and crossed their bare feet behind their stools. Dried blood coated Eamonn’s knuckles.

“I see” Roberts replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. Tommy looked at the floor. His own pale feet were flecked with specks of mud and ash.

“Hands on the desk” Roberts commanded. Tommy reluctantly followed the instructions, and Roberts raised the cane high, bringing it swiftly down on Tommy’s fingers. Tommy screwed up his face, tears pricking behind his eyes, but didn’t cry out as he was struck, once, twice, three times.

Five for the lateness, five for no shoes.

The class fell silent as he took his punishment, and Tommy walked to his desk at the back of the classroom red faced, clutching his stinging knuckles. Billy smirked, and aimed a kick at his ankles as he passed, but Tommy dodged and slid into his chair.

Freddie gave him a sympathetic look as he sat down, but Tommy just took out his books quickly and stared at the blackboard, not wanting to give Mr Roberts another reason to punish him. He felt his eyelids drooping a few times, and pinched his wrist throughout the mathematics lesson in an attempt to stay awake.

When that proved ineffective, he pressed on the sore spots on his hands. He hadn’t bled, not this time, but he twisted and pinched at the tender skin beneath his desk, until Freddie nudged him and nodded to his abandoned slate.

 

As a considerable chunk of the morning was lost, lunch rolled around relatively quickly. Despite the other shortcomings of the school, lunch time was definitely a high point. Rather than being stuffed into benches in the hall for the hour like in other schools, the pupils were allowed run around and eat outside in the yard.

Although Polly said this was because the headmaster stank of gin and whiskey, and couldn’t organise a hall full of children if his life depended on it, it was a very good system in Tommy’s view. The cold breeze on his face shook him awake, and he leant on the doorframe of the schoolhouse, letting it wash over him as he waited for his brother.

The older boys soon emerged, and Tommy found Arthur, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to their usual spot in the corner of the yard. Freddie, Danny and some of Arthur’s friends were already waiting there, tucking into their lunches.

“How come you didn’t get beaten too?” asked Tommy, pointing at Arthur’s knuckles.

“Cause I’m Mrs Changretta’s favourite” he replied, flexing his clean hands, “let me see”. Tommy held out his own sore hands, and Arthur grimaced.

“It’s not so bad” said Tommy, stuffing them in his pockets. They’d had far worse.

They sat together on a low wall, and ate the small, tasteless lunch provided to poor children by the school. Afterwards, Arthur pulled out a napkin from his pocket, containing a slice of chocolate cake from Mrs Changretta. Hiding it from the rest of the group, he broke it in half and handed a piece to Tommy, who grinned at him, eating slowly to savour the taste. Arthur looked around for John, and found him sat on the concrete with some of the girls in his class, piling up sticks.

He usually played with the boys, racing around the yard, more often than not contributing to his eternally scraped knees, but his friendship with little Lizzie was a good influence in calming him down. Arthur gave him the other half of the cake, ruffling his hair before returning to Tommy. His brother gave him a chocolatey smile and held out a quarter.

The rest of lunch passed quickly, with Arthur and his friends soon running off to wrestle out of sight of the windows, leaving Tommy to play with his friends. They ran around the yard, shooting pretend guns at each other and ducking behind other students for cover.

Danny crept up and surprised Tommy, who mimed being hit in the chest and fell dramatically to the ground. He popped up a second later, laughing loudly and firing back at his attackers until their break was over.

The afternoon was far less exciting, with Roberts attempting to drill the history of the British Empire into their brains for the best part of two hours. Then there was an assembly, something about the bible, which Tommy took as an opportunity to catch up on some sleep. Polly wouldn’t approve, but she didn’t have to know.

His day was brightened however, when they filed into the main classroom again to find someone had drawn a rather realistic monkey, with big shiny shoes and features that looked suspiciously like Billy Kimber’s on the blackboard.

Billy was, of course, livid, but thankfully having his poor handwriting and pictures mocked by the boy on a daily basis made Tommy immune to this outburst. He pondered over who could have drawn the picture, and risked a beating, but soon had his answer when Greta Jurossi grinned at him from the other side of the classroom, waggling her chalky fingers. He grinned back.

 

The end of the day came as a relief to Tommy, who hastily shoved his books into his bag and followed Freddie out the door to the yard. They went to the usual spot on the wall to wait for the others, the bustle of their classmates and car horns on the streets outside rousing Tommy slightly, where he’d begun to drift off again.

Greta made to approach the wall, but stopped a few metres away, eyes flicking to Tommy’s with a somewhat shyer smile than usual. She looked though she wanted to say something, but was grabbed by her sister, a girl in Arthur’s class, and pulled away. Freddie nudged his elbow, smirking at him.

“She likes you” he sang in a drawn out voice. Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed, but was unable to hide a small grin. Greta was a nice girl, pretty too, he supposed, all dark hair with a bright smile. She was one of the only people to stand up for Tommy, not that he needed protecting of course. He could handle Billy perfectly fine on his own. John arrived next, Martha and Lizzie in tow. They each had small twigs, and were using them as swords, laughing happily.

Arthur finally appeared, boasting loudly about his boxing match, Irene and Erin hanging off his arms and listening to every word. Tommy stared at the scene, unimpressed, before distracting himself with his bag strap.

 

“Want to go swimming in the canal?” Freddie asked, swinging his bag onto his shoulders.

“I can’t” groaned Tommy, “Aunt Pol says I have to go straight home”.

“So?” said Freddie, “you said your dad was home at the moment, she’ll be busy with him”. Tommy considered it, and decided swimming was much more fun than the hiding he’d inevitably get on his return. Especially swimming with Freddie.

Sneaking off was easy. After saying goodbye to their friends, John and Arthur soon became occupied stealing apples and bread from the market stall in the next road, and then in sprinting away from the beefy owner who noticed them. Tommy and Freddie ran the other way, and soon found themselves at the canal, Tommy feeling slightly guilty for both missing Arthur’s match and disobeying Polly.

They quickly stripped down to their underwear, clothes lying piled on the banks as they took a running jump into the river. It was cold, but not unbearable, and Freddie’s wide smile made Tommy feel warm inside.

“Race you!” Freddie yelled, and soon the splashes of water and shouts of laughter filled the air. They swam for a while longer, before clambering out and dressing, shaking their heads and sending droplets flying. Tommy’s good mood was not to last, however.

As they turned the corner to Watery Lane, they saw Polly standing at the door, her arms folded and her expression furious. How she always seemed to know he was coming was a complete mystery.

 

“Thomas Michael Shelby you better get inside this house before I count to three” she called, holding up three fingers in warning. Tommy glanced at Freddie in farewell, grimacing, before running down the street, barely reaching the door in time. Polly grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him into the house. John and Ada were playing with blocks in the hallway, and Polly cursed as she tripped, ushering them to the side.

She really needed a drink now; too many children and adults driving her crazy for one day.

“What did I tell you?” she demanded, sitting at the table as Tommy shifted uncomfortably. “Hmm? Why does no one ever listen in this house?”. She took in his wet hair and damp clothing. “Went swimming, did you?”.

 “Just quickly” he said. “It’s almost too cold to go now”. At her exhausted expression and silence, he bit his lip. “I’m sorry Aunt Pol”. She sighed, catching sight of Tommy’s red and bruised knuckles, peeking out from under Arthur’s old shirt. Taking his hand, she grabbed a towel and wet it slightly, adding some ointment from an ancient Compton’s Chemist pot and wrapping the material around his sore skin.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better” he nodded.

“We still need to talk about being out at night” she said, raising her eyebrows. Tommy was about to reply, when the front door slammed and Arthur ran into the kitchen, wearing only his boxing shorts, sweat and blood dripping down his chest.

 

“I fucking won!” he yelled.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur” said Polly, gaping at him. “What happened?”.

“Oh this?” Arthur grinned proudly down at his bloody chest. “It’s not mine”. Polly deflated slightly in relief, but her worried expression quickly returned.

“Is the other boy okay?” she asked warily. Arthur Snr was a bad influence in the boxing ring, often leaving his opponents horribly injured as the boys watched from the side lines. Her nephew unfortunately seemed to be following in his footsteps.

“He’s alright” said Arthur, pulling up a chair and nudging Tommy’s arm. “Where’d you disappear to eh? I wanted you there. I kicked his fucking arse!”. Arthur Snr entered the room, also sweaty but considerably more clothed than Arthur, cutting off Tommy’s reply. Polly raised an eyebrow.

“Sobered up then?” she asked, rising and fetching the last few slices of bread from the cupboard.

“There he is!” Arthur Snr cried, pointing to Arthur and ignoring Polly. “Junior champion”. Arthur laughed and threw his arms up in victory. “Where were you Tom? Need to get you in the ring again, son”. Polly wrinkled her nose, wishing Arthur had washed and dressed at the ring rather than drip blood all over the floor.

“Tommy’s got better things to do with his time” she said brusquely, motioning for Tommy to help prepare dinner. Dinner as it was, anyway; she’d have to send someone to the shop tomorrow. She only had sixpence in her purse for the rest of the week, but Arthur had been caught stealing far too often, many shopkeepers barring him from their stores.

Tommy clearly couldn’t be trusted alone after the top hat and coconut incident, which likely left another responsibility up to her. It would be damn near impossible to take any night school accountancy classes at this rate. She’d have to wait until Arthur was older, old enough to look after his siblings without breaking anything or losing someone…a very long time.

“Like what?” demanded Arthur Snr, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder roughly as he attempted to pass. “He’s a Shelby. Every Shelby should be born fighting”. Tommy shrugged off his father’s hand, eyes narrowing. Arthur’s face turned stony, and he set his glass down firmly on the table, pouring another drink.

“He likes the horses better, eh Tom?” said Arthur Jnr, in an attempt to diffuse the suddenly growing tension in the room.

Polly watched the scene unfold from the counter nervously, whilst also losing any hope that her brother could watch the little ones whilst she was at night school. God forbid the man took an interest in his own children beyond boxing, horse riding and alcohol. If only Jane was well again. Although the recovery from Ada’s birth wasn’t quite as painful and dangerous as it had been after Tommy’s, she was still very weak, and had hardly been out of bed two years later.

Polly had to be there for the children, but she was also nineteen, and had her own life to lead now. Become an accountant, get a job at a big firm, make enough to support all the kids and buy them shoes and toys. Maybe even meet someone, settle down and have children of her own one day. Her heart clenched a little as she thought of a time three years ago, when all that seemed possible. Easy, even.

“I like the horses better” Tommy repeated.

“Is that why all the new supplies were gone this morning?” his father questioned, staring at Tommy, who reddened slightly.

“Percy was footso-”. Arthur cut him off again.

“You think I’ve got the money to be buying new bales of hay every time you overfeed them?” he said, tipping back his glass and swallowing the last of his drink.

“I think you’ve got enough to buy crates of whiskey every week” said Tommy. The crack across his face was swift and hard. Tommy stumbled backwards with a cry, falling to the floor and clutching his cheek.  The pain set in, and he bit down hard on his tongue. A few tears started down his cheeks, but he wiped them away and stood again, using the counter for support as his knees shook.

Silence.

Polly pulled her hands away from her mouth, glancing at her brother as she rushed to Tommy. Arthur’s moods changed quickly these days. He wasn’t one to cross at the best of times, but with Jane being ill, and a failing business, along with his excess use of substances and alcohol, he was even more intemperate than usual.

When he couldn’t think of a retort to one of Tommy’s comments, Arthur would lash out. It seemed the only power he had over his son was physical. Polly rubbed Tommy’s back soothingly as she stared at a vein pulsing in Arthur’s forehead. He stood, rubbing the back of his head and pinching his eyes shut before looking down at Tommy again.

“Sounds like you need a good hiding, eh?”. Tommy shook his head quickly, throat bobbing as he swallowed, his mouth dry. That should be the end of it.

“You don’t think a man can buy a drink with his own money?” said Arthur, rolling up his sleeves. “Messing about with the horses again, wasting all my fucking polish and hay? I’ve told you before, Thomas, you’re to leave them alone and get some fucking sleep”. Tommy stared straight back at his father defiantly, but he fiddled with his shirt sleeves to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. He hit harder when he was drunk.

“Arthur-” Polly started, stepping in front of Tommy.

“Don’t lecture me woman” he spat, grabbing Tommy by the wrist and pulling him into his office, the lock clicking behind him. Arthur Jnr was silent, the earlier happiness at winning his match long faded from his face. John had entered the kitchen at all the noise, Ada toddling in behind him.

“No, upstairs you two” said Polly, as Arthur’s shouting started from behind the door.

“What’s going on?” asked John, Polly already ushering him away. Ada teetered where she stood and sat down abruptly.

“Arfur!” she cried, stretching out her chubby hands for her brother. Arthur made to pick her up, but remembered the blood covering him, dropping his hands and standing numbly in the kitchen. He loved his dad, which was half the trouble. He shouldn’t feel an urge to defend a drunken man, who abandoned his mother in her sickness and left his siblings crying. Ada’s lip wobbled.

Polly hurried back to the office and banged on the door, cursing her brother. A moment later, Arthur staggered out of his office, grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey from the counter and headed out onto the street. The sky had darkened, and there were already a group of women gathered under the dim lamppost at the end of the lane. Arthur Jnr watched his father go, guilty relief flooding him.

 

Tommy lay slumped against the wall, one arm covering his head and the other lying limp in his lap. Arthur could see a ring of red around his wrist. Polly murmured quietly to Tommy, gently pulling him into her arms and standing up, rocking back and forth. Arthur reached out cautiously and gripped the back of Tommy’s neck comfortingly, his shaved hair prickling his palm.

“Shh, I know it hurts” whispered Polly. Tommy’s hand gripped her blouse tighter. They stayed that way for a while, until Tommy’s quiet sobs faded to nothing, and John and Ada poked their heads around the kitchen door, expressions worrisome. Polly waved them over, and they came quickly, wanting to join in the cuddle.

“You stink, Arthur!” giggled John, even as he wrapped his arms around him. Arthur Snr getting angry was always frightening to the kids, especially when one of them was on the receiving end.

“Oi” said Arthur, squeezing him back, “I smell as fresh as the roses”. Tommy emerged from where he was hidden in Polly’s shoulder, wiping his eyes and laughing softly. His cheeks were red, and there was a trickle of blood running down his forehead, but he was smiling. Ada was hanging off his foot, and attempted to clamber up to him, Polly groaning under the weight of two kids.

She indulged them for a moment, Ada leaning on Tommy’s shoulder, before agreeing with John and sending Arthur to clean up the dried blood. Soon, they all washed, with John’s typical commentary of just how much he hated bath time, and dressed in their nightclothes; Arthur’s hand downs in a varying sizes.

 

Afterwards, they moved upstairs, to Jane’s room, and crowded on the bed together, Polly chopping up the apples Arthur had stolen earlier to snack on in place of lard. Jane’s condition had somewhat improved throughout the day, and she hugged Tommy and John close when they snuggled into her sides. She hated that her condition stopped her from being the mother she wanted to be. Her boys and sweet Ada were the most precious things in the world to her.

Polly was too young, and too full of potential to put her life on hold to raise her brother’s children. Her relationship with her husband was also in complete tatters. She stroked her thumb across the thin cut in Tommy’s forehead, rage coiling within her. If she couldn’t even protect her children from their father’s temper, what kind of mother was she?

Tommy shifted against her to grab a piece of apple, drawing her from her thoughts and back to her family. Arthur was bouncing Ada on his knee, and she let out a happy squeal of laughter every time she rose into the air, sending the others into fits of giggles. Tommy and John wanted to hear all about Arthur’s victory, which led to a detailed re-enactment involving his sore toe and many tangents. 

In a moment of calm, Polly caught Jane’s eye, smiling reassuringly, letting her know it was okay. Though her family drove Polly completely and utterly mad, particularly when they couldn’t leave the house at a reasonable hour, she’d never be without them.


	2. 1900

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Snr has decided his future lies in London, with big casinos, fancy hotels and racehorses. He takes the boys down to Camden on a business trip, and Tommy’s new found interest in weapons lands him in some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi - I’m still alive! I’m currently interrailing, so I uploaded/edited this on my phone - I will fix the potentially awful formatting and spelling mistakes when I’m back home, sorry until then <3

Polly fumbled with her keys as she tried to enter the house. It was a Sunday morning, ice cold January air whipped around the family as they returned from church, and her numb fingers ineffectively grappled with the lock.

The boys and Ada were moaning from somewhere behind her, but the one benefit of the howling north wind was that it made it near impossible to hear them. After a slightly panicked thought that the lock had frozen, she gave a hard twist and the door finally opened, everyone piling inside. 

  
“Bloody hell” said Arthur, collapsing on the sofa with his sister, not bothering to remove the three scarves wrapped around his neck. John waddled in behind him, his movements stiff from the layers of clothing, complete with two coats, Polly had forced him into. 

  
“Hell” echoed Tommy, who looked slightly scarred from the experience. He always felt the cold badly. “Why do we have to go to church anyway?” he asked. Ah, there was the moaning back again, thought Polly. 

  
“Because it’s Sunday, and that’s what we do” she said by way of an explanation, pulling off her gloves and massaging the warmth back into her fingers. 

  
“Can we have a fire?” asked John, already gathering wood from the basket. Ada slid off the sofa, eager to help.

  
“A small one” said Polly, and John huffed as he offloaded half his pile back into the basket. 

  
“But I don’t believe in G-”  
“Tommy, please, not now” said Polly, grabbing some logs and heading up the stairs to Jane’s room. It was empty when she arrived, and Polly was glad she felt well enough to make it out of bed despite the awful weather.

She added the logs to the smouldering hearth nonetheless, poking them around with the tongs to help them catch. Jane entered a moment later, dressed, and with a duster in her hand. Polly felt a protest rise in her throat, but swallowed it quickly at the bright smile on her sister-in-law’s face. 

“Lovely weather” she said, grinning at Polly’s dishevelled appearance. 

 

Her energy wasn’t to last however. Late in the evening, Polly heard a scream from the top floor, and ran upstairs to find Jane face down on the carpet, vomit around her mouth.

Tommy was slumped against the doorframe, deathly pale and clutching the handle for support. Polly rolled Jane over, checking her breathing, before moving her onto the bed, despairing at how light she was in her arms. She cleaned her up, getting the fire roaring and tucking her into bed. Tommy watched from the corner of the room.  

“Is Mama going to die?” he asked eventually, voice small. 

“No sweetheart” Polly said quickly, gathering him in her arms. “She’s just having a rough night. You know she goes up and down, don’t you?”. Tommy nodded, sniffing. “I’m glad you found her when you did” she said gratefully, pressing a kiss into his hair. 

Tommy didn’t sleep that night, but sat with his nose pressed against the window, watching the storm swirl outside. A floor above, Polly did the same, one of Jane’s hands in her own.

The following morning, the storm had died down, leaving white frost creeping across the window panes of Small Heath in its wake. The front door slammed, and Arthur Snr whistled as he entered. He’d stayed at Watery Lane four nights in the past week, which was something of a record.

Polly suspected it was Jane’s improved condition that had him crawling back, but bit her tongue, not wanting to rock the boat. He was an opportunist, her brother. When there was something to take, he materialised, spending his first night upstairs with Jane since Ada was born.

But he wasn’t there when they needed him. He slunk back into the cold alleyways he suited so well. It shouldn’t have been Tommy to find his mother’s body on the floor. 

“Pollyanna” he called loudly, striding into the kitchen. “I’m going to make us a fortune. A bloody fortune!”. Polly sat up groggily, blinking from where she’d been resting on her arms at the table. She’d not slept a wink last night, and with the advantage of a good night’s sleep, John and Ada had been running rings around her all morning. Damn school holidays.

“What?” she said, rubbing her eyes. It already sounded like a terrible idea. 

“I’m going to London” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting beside her. She dropped her hands, staring accusingly at her brother.

“You’re not leaving us again” said Polly, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew that the majority of time her brother was a drunken waste of space, but they needed his income. She could hardly afford to feed the boys and buy Jane’s medicine as it was. If he left for good, hope of her full recovery would drop like a stone. He waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m a changed man” he said. “I’m not going for long, just enough to get us started” he promised.

“Started with what?” she said warily. “I’ve told you to stop throwing money away into new businesses and concentrate on the one we’ve got”. He looked affronted, as Polly knew he would. Arthur hated her getting involved in business, although in reality he’d hardly be able to sell a horse shoe without some form of assistance from her. 

“I don’t have to explain it to you, it’s men’s work” said Arthur, “just know that I’m going to make us rich. Big casinos, hotels, races. You’ll never want for a thing”. A slightly dreamy expression came over his face, and Polly couldn’t help but laugh.

“You think you can just waltz down to London, have a few whiskeys and build an empire?”. Arthur rose from his seat, resigned to her opposition. 

“Why don’t you go and tend to the laundry, ey?” he said, opening the door to the living room. Polly rolled her eyes, letting her head drop back onto her arms again, trying to ignore the bundle of nerves that had settled in her stomach.

She knew there was every possibility her brother could get on the train to London and disappear for years. He’d always been this way, for as long as she could remember. Never picking her up from school, vanishing for months after promising to take her to the country. It’s in his nature, her mother had told her as a girl, and you can’t fight nature.

Arthur strode through to the living room. John and Ada were playing on the floor, and Tommy and Arthur Jnr were shrugging on their jackets, determined to go outside with a ball despite the biting cold.

“How about it boys?” said Arthur Snr. “Who wants to go on holiday?”. 

“Me!” cried John, jumping up eagerly. Ada imitated him, bouncing up and down with her brother. She wasn’t entirely sure what a holiday was, but if John was excited it must be good. 

“Oh, I don’t know my girl” said Arthur, picking Ada up and swinging her into the air before setting her at his feet again. “You’re a bit young for this one”.

John’s face fell, and he sunk back down to the rug with his sister. They were almost inseparable these days, despite Ada’s latest hobby of wandering off alone into Charlie’s yard or across the market, sending her brothers and Polly into a frenzy until she was found again. John and Ada had never been on holiday before, and the furthest they’d been from Small Heath was their granddad’s run down house in Bartley Green.

Tommy and Arthur however, had been lucky enough to go to the beach with their mother and Uncle Charlie, before their younger siblings were born. Tommy was too young to remember much, but he recalled Arthur piling sand over their uncle whilst he was sleeping, and his mother taking him to splash in the sea. 

“But she’s nearly 4” John protested, despite Ada’s fourth birthday being months away. 

“Where are we going Dad?” asked Arthur eagerly.

“London, my boy” he answered. “We leave tomorrow”. Arthur’s eyes shone: a proper holiday, with his dad. He looked across at Tommy, who had his typical unreadable expression on his face.

“What for?” he asked. Arthur Snr clapped him on the back.

“Business man in the making here” he said. “But don’t you worry about that. I’ve got it all sorted” said Arthur, tapping his temple knowingly, before throwing an arm around his eldest son. “Listen my boy. I’ll take you round Camden, and I’ll tell you all about the meetings with our clients eh, you’ll be running this business one day”. Arthur Jnr beamed at his father, before catching eyes with Tommy and schooling his features.

  
“What about Tommy and John?” he asked.

  
“You two can keep yourselves out of trouble” said their father. “I’ve got us a luxury room, so you can stay there and play while we take care of the business, ey?”. Chatter erupted, and Tommy slipped away from his father and siblings, dubious excitement bubbling in his chest.

Polly was not happy. After a long and tenuous argument, in which Arthur insisted the boys accompany him, and she’d countered with a long list of things that could go wrong, including injury, misdirection, hunger and crime, she headed upstairs to appeal this ridiculous decision to Jane. She didn’t quite get the response she’d hoped for.

  
“They deserve to go” said Jane, circling a button on her nightshirt with her finger. “What can I give them?”. Polly sighed.

“You know what he’s like” she said, “he’ll get distracted. Leave them somewhere”. Jane shook her head.  
“I know he’s let you down, but you’ve got to give him a chance, Pol” she said.   
“It’s not a place to take children, it’s dangerous” Polly insisted. “My brother can go and piss away what little we have but he’s not dragging the boys into it too”.

  
 “Polly” Jane said sharply. “They’re my children”. Polly recoiled, stung by her words. She knew it was hard for Jane to have another woman more involved in her children’s lives, but she’d sacrificed so much to look after them. She was the one who fed them, dressed them, tucked them in at night. A career and life of her own still seemed so far away. She stood abruptly, even as Jane reached out to her. “Polly” she said, regretfully. “I didn’t me-”. She fell silent as Polly swept out of the room. 

The next morning, the boys were gathered by the door. Unsurprisingly, when the destination was an exciting new city rather than the classroom, they were all dressed and ready on time. Arthur’s feet had grown enough that he was now able to wear a pair of his father’s old shoes, and a recent swipe of a woman’s shopping bag meant that John now had shiny shoes of his own.

Jane was furious when she first saw them, thinking of the little boy somewhere in Small Heath who now had nothing, but seeing old scars from glass and stones on her five year olds feet soon changed her mind. It was hard to be selfless while your own children suffered.

Tommy was wearing their old shared shoes, meaning for the first time, all the boys had something on their feet. That was one positive, thought Polly. God knows what covered the streets down in London.

She straightened the boys’ collars, scrubbing at a speck of dirt on Arthur’s with her nail. Ada was playing with a loose button on Tommy’s coat. 

“You have to look out for each other, alright?” said Polly, looking each of the boys in the eye as she spoke. “I don’t want anyone getting separated”. They nodded solemnly. “John you have to be on your best behaviour, Tommy if you even think about wandering off on your own you’ll hear me screaming at you all the way from Camden, and Arthur” she paused, to make sure her nephew was actually listening, “you look after your brothers”.

Arthur Snr pulled open the door, ushering the boys into the street. Ada tried to follow, but Polly scooped her up, waving her hand. 

  
“Can you say bye bye?” said Polly. Ada looked confused.

  
“Ada go” she said, stretching her arms out to Arthur.

  
“Not today, I’m afraid” said Polly, smoothing back her hair. The boys each kissed their sister, before waving goodbye to Jane, who had pulled back the curtains from the upstairs window. Setting off at a brisk walk, Ada’s crying followed them until Watery Lane was out of sight. 

They soon boarded the train, and were quiet in awe as the city around them gave way to trees and green fields. Arthur Snr read his paper as the boys crowded against the window, content to let the countryside speed by, mouths hanging open in curiosity.

The rolling fields fell away gradually, then all at once, tall buildings and smoke circling the city like a vulture announcing their arrival. The train pulled into the station, and the boys eagerly jumped onto the platform, John pulling on his brother’s hands impatiently. Arthur Snr set off with an air of confidence, spreading out his arms as they exited the station.

  
“Camden” he proclaimed, pulling Arthur close as they set off down the street. 

  
“What do they do here Dad?” he asked, staring at the people rushing around them. Many wore uniforms, and were carrying crates back and forth to warehouses. 

  
“Import, export” he said, continuing with an explanation of profits and margins that Arthur didn’t understand, but vehemently pretended to. Tommy and John trailed behind them, lugging the bags. Tommy glared at the back of his father’s head. He knew how this went, their father’s good moods never lasted.

They just got John overexcited, and led to reproachful stares from Arthur when Tommy didn’t return their father’s good spirits. With this in mind, he loosened the clasp on Arthur Snr’s heavy black case, reaching inside and grabbing a shirt sleeve. His father was still spouting business jargon to Arthur, so failed to notice Tommy dragging his best shirt along the dirt streets.

The lavish hotel their father had described back home turned out to be a small room above a pub called the Wanderer. It was facing an open yard, with the city behind it, and in the fading afternoon light could be mistaken for the Garrison if Tommy squinted. They entered, Tommy stuffing Arthur’s shirt back inside his case as they climbed the rickety stairs up to the top floor. 

“Wow” said John, eyes wide as he took in the surroundings. It wasn’t much, a round table and a few beds in the corner for the boys, but it was new, different. The adjoining room for Arthur Snr was slightly grander, with a double bed and a large window, London sprawling beneath the sill. Tommy’s eyes went straight to the alleyways and sharp twisting corners visible below.

Two gangs of boys lounged at opposite ends of an alleyway, and Tommy pressed closer to the glass, eager to get a better look. One boy was brandishing a large knife, steel catching the weak light, and Tommy’s eyes widened with the realisation that they were all carrying weapons.

He pulled away from the window, a small grin on his face. London was the place for him.

Arthur Snr set out early the next morning, having, for once, not spent the entire night in the pub. Before they’d gone to bed the previous evening, his surprisingly good mood had continued. He’d taken Tommy across the street to the stables, kicked a ball around with John, and bought Arthur his own hipflask. He’d fallen a little short on breakfast, leaving only two slices of bread and a smidge of butter for the boys, but Tommy went without, telling the others he’d already eaten the third slice. 

  
The boys busied themselves for an hour or so before their father returned. His hair was dishevelled, and he was scowling as he slammed the door, but arranged his face into a neutral expression when his eldest son eagerly asked about the business. He poured himself a drink, before slumping in a chair by the window and beginning another rant about planning permission contracts that Arthur still didn’t understand.

John tired of the conversation after a moment, and returned to wheeling his toy train along the wooden slats of the floor. Nobody noticed when Tommy slipped out of the room.

  
Avoiding the creaking stairs he’d memorised the day before, he crept silently through the pub and out onto the street. Heading for the alleyways, he chanced a glance behind him, but nobody had followed. Tommy wandered through the alleyways, trailing his fingers along the rough brick surface behind him, until he came to an opening leading onto the canal.

Crates were scattered around the bank like furniture, and Tommy noted the multitude of cigarette butts on the ground.

  
A glint caught his eye, and he turned, mouth going dry as he saw a long serrated knife, resting atop a low crate. He looked around. There was nobody in sight, the only sounds the water lapping against the bank and the distant hum of the city. He walked over, lifting up the top of the crate to reveal a dozen knives and razor blades enclosed within. He picked the first knife up, holding it for a moment, before miming slashing it through the air.

He had a small pocket knife at home, and he ‘borrowed’ Arthur’s larger one on many occasions, but Polly kept anything else out of reach. She was annoyingly good at that. He slipped two razor blades into his pocket, and was reaching to grab a third when a voice made him freeze. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”. Turning slowly, Tommy saw one of the gangs from yesterday gathered at the alley entrance. There were six of them, all taller and older than he was, wearing dark suits and staring at Tommy with emotions ranging from suspicious to furious. The angriest looking boy stepped forwards, and Tommy assumed he was the leader and the one to have spoken by the way the other boys copied him.

“I said, what the fuck are you doing?” he repeated, gesturing to the blade in Tommy’s hand.

  
“What’s it to you?” he said, taking a small step backwards, eyes darting to the only other alleyway not blocked off by crates or boxes. If he could just rile this boy up enough, he could slip through in the confusion…  
The boy stared at Tommy in outrage, clearly used to people scurrying to obey him. 

  
“Darby, shall I hit him?” asked a tall boy at the back of the group. Darby considered this. 

  
“Not yet” he said, looking Tommy up and down. “These are my streets. That is my blade. Why does a filthy little toe rag like you think he has any right to my fucking property?” he screamed, raising his voice. Tommy said nothing, fingering the blade in his hand.

If one of them came at him, he knew how to use it. Darby became impatient with Tommy’s lack of response, and clicked his fingers at the boys behind him, drawing them forwards. Tommy’s confidence wavered slightly, but his eyes locked onto the thick hand that reached for his collar, and he sliced the blade across its palm.

A rush of victorious adrenaline flooded him, but more hands were already reaching, Tommy sliced three more boys before he was grabbed from behind, arm pinned to his side. The blade was wrestled out of his hand, and a dull blow to the back of the head left him reeling, dropping to the floor when the grip loosened.

Tommy’s hands raised instinctively to cover his head, but he was too slow, a boot stamping down onto his nose and spurting blood down his chin. Several hard kicks to his side had him curling up, and Tommy squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to calm himself, wanting to kick out at his attackers but too paralyzed to move.

His nose and head were throbbing so viciously it took him a moment to register that the blows had stopped, muffled voices surrounding him. Tommy’s hand made it to the hidden blades in his pocket before he slipped into darkness.

  
A few minutes, or was it hours, later, he opened his eyes. White blurred above him, focussing into clouds as he blinked. He attempted to sit up, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and thudded back to the ground, his head pounding. 

“Easy there mate” came a voice. Tommy looked to his left, and saw a teenage boy sat on a low crate next to him. He was wearing the same dark clothing, which initially made Tommy’s stomach tense, preparing for further blows, but after a moment he relaxed. This boy was different. 

  
“Can you hear me? That was quite a beating you took there yeah, do you know your name?” he asked. Tommy opened his mouth, voice cracking.

  
“Tommy” he croaked, grasping the razor blade that sat in his palm, attempting to sit up again. The boy helped him this time, propping his back against a crate. Tommy blinked again, the world sharpening around him. 

  
“Who are you?” he asked.

  
“Me, I’m Alfie mate. Alfie Solomons” the boy replied. “I’d shake yer hand but I know where that’d get me” he said, drawing his finger across his palm in imitation of a blade. Tommy groaned at the pain in his nose, and he attempted to stand. Alfie threw an arm out to steady him.

“Hmm do you think that’s a good idea?” he said, but let go when Tommy shrugged off his arm. 

  
“What happened?” he asked. 

  
“What happened? Well mate when you try to steal from a fucker like Sabini, you gotta be prepared for the consequences yeah? Weapons, backup, and the like” said Alfie, continuing his rant.

Apparently, saving a boy who brought no benefit and antagonising already tense gang relations had soured Alfie’s reputation.

“You’re a silly little boy ain’t you Tommy” he said after a while, staring at the blood running down Tommy’s chin. He talked rather a lot, Tommy noticed. “Look let’s put this on here, yeah” he said, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket.

  
“I’m not little” said Tommy quietly.

  
“What’s that mate?” Alfie asked, pressing his handkerchief against Tommy’s nose. 

  
“I’m not little” he said again, voice muffled but still indignant. Alfie paused for a moment, before looking Tommy up and down, chuckling.

  
“I come here right, and save you from that scum, and you’re gonna stand there and tell me you ain’t short?”. Tommy pouted, scuffing the dirt with the tip of his shoe. 

  
“I’m not short” he mumbled. He looked so put out about the situation Alfie couldn’t help but laugh, sitting down on a crate and gesturing for Tommy to sit beside him. Given the ashen colour of his face, he really shouldn’t be standing, despite his determination.

  
“Right how old are you then? Shouldn’t be wandering round ‘ere by yourself, look what can happen, yeah?”.

  
“I’m ten” said Tommy, grimacing as his nose throbbed.

  
“Ten?” Alfie repeated. Tommy shot him a glare.

  
“I’m nearly 11” he defended, squaring his shoulders, but unfortunately for Tommy, it was almost impossible to look manly when you were tiny, pale, and covered in blood. Alfie grinned, raising his hands in defence.

  
“It’s alright sunshine, you just look younger, that’s all. Got some real guts though, more than any of them lot. Takes real fucking cowardice to hurt a kid like that” said Alfie, smile fading from his face. He only looked a year or two older than Tommy, but the way he spoke, as well as having the nerve to call _Tommy_ a kid, made him seem older. His eyes were wide and slightly manic as he stared into the distance, the pause before the carnage. His gaze soon flicked back to Tommy, and softened. 

  
“Why are you here then?” he asked curiously, “you ain’t from these parts that’s for certain”.

  
“I’m from Birmingham. My dad’s got business” Tommy said, gazing out across the barge, handkerchief still pressed against his face. Alfie’s eyebrows rose. 

  
“What kinda business?”.

Tommy paused.

  
“He’s got business with all sorts” he decided on confidently. He remembered the ache from the last time he’d said too much about the shady parts of the family business; accidentally letting slip that his father stole horses he predicted would vanish, within earshot of a Lee boy. As this caused uproar between Shelby’s and several other families for a few months, Arthur Snr was angry to say the least.

He was forced to give up some of his own horses to calm the situation, and Tommy got his comeuppance when Bourbon, his favourite chocolate brown horse, was given away. Tommy was heartbroken, unable to sleep and instead crying into Polly’s arms every night, until Arthur Jnr found Bourbon’s new owner; a young boy called Johnny. They soon became fast friends, and Tommy could visit Bourbon whenever he wanted.

Even so, Tommy was fiercely protective of his other horses, and thus wary about divulging any information to a stranger. Not that he knew much about this trip anyway, precisely for that reason.

“Business with the Jews?” asked Alfie, eyebrows raised. Tommy shrugged, trying to hide the fact he had no idea what his father was really up to. Polly said it would end in disaster whatever it was. He bit his lip, pulling the cloth away and staring at the red stains, stark against the white.

“Let me see” said Alfie. Tommy let him, and Alfie squeezed his nose gently with his finger and thumb. Tommy winced at the sting. 

  
“Look nothing’s broken kid, you’re okay” said Alfie, pressing his handkerchief back against Tommy’s nose to catch a fresh trickle of blood. “Just hold it on there a little longer, yeah?”. Tommy nodded.

They stayed that way for a while, the pale blue sky darkening into a deep grey, heeding rain. Alfie asked a lot of questions, giving long rambling answers in response to Tommy’s. He wanted to impress Alfie, he realised. Didn’t want to see like a scared kid that needed saving. The thought of Alfie watching him cower, paralysed, until he intervened sent a deep wave of shame through Tommy. He wouldn’t be that weak again.

“Tommy!” came an angry yell from across the water. Tommy looked up, startled, to see Arthur Jnr glaring at him. “Get here now”.

  
“Who’s that then?” Alfie asked, as Tommy rose too quickly, head spinning. “Easy mate” he said, holding out a hand to steady Tommy.

  
“He’s my brother” Tommy replied, crossing the short distance to the side of the river. 

  
“Where the hell have you been?” Arthur demanded. “I’ve been looking for bloody hours”. Tommy shifted guiltily, hand going to his pocket.

  
“I haven’t been anywhere” he said, gesturing to the surroundings. “Just here”. He could feel Arthur’s frustration even from across the water. 

  
“Tommy” he growled. He heard crunching behind him, and Alfie was at his side.

  
“Who are you?” Arthur demanded, staring at Alfie as if he were the one out of place in this city. 

  
“Who am I?” said Alfie, hand on his chest. “I am the protector of that thing there” he said, pointing at Tommy, who pouted. “Who was wandering these fucking streets what where nothing good can ever happen all on ‘is own”.

  
“He wandered off, alright”, defended Arthur, still looking at Alfie as if he was from another planet, “I’m his big brother”.

  
“Yeah, well, you ain’t doing a great job of that mate. He could’ve been fucking killed back there” said Alfie, raising his voice. His eyes glinted in the fading light, taking on that wild quality. The arguing continued, Arthur becoming increasingly defensive and stating that he was the best big brother in the world thank you very much, and if Tommy would just listen, he wouldn’t get into these scrapes.

Arthur studied his brother as best he could at a distance, trying to see any wounds other than his swollen nose. It wouldn’t be the first time Tommy had hidden injuries from him. After Billy’s gang had cornered Tommy after school, he’d managed to hide his broken wrist for three days before the pain became too great. 

  
“Come here Tommy, let’s go” he said. Tommy looked around, confused. 

  
“But…there’s no bridge” he said, peering into the deep water swirling below him.

  
“No fucking bridge” said Arthur. “Swim across stupid”.

  
“Are you fucking mad, mate?” said Alfie, throwing an arm between Tommy and the river. “He’ll go under in a second in there. Nasty little undercurrents they’ve got. Now you see my mate Abraham yeah, nice chap he was, last year ‘e tried to swim across one of thes-”

  
“Tommy, come on, jump for it” said Arthur, tired of Alfie’s rambling. Tommy looked doubtful, staring into the currents once again, before looking up at Alfie to continue the story.

  
“He was meeting some girl yeah, wanted to impress her, you know. So he jumps in and ‘e fucking drowns in there, never comes up again poor thing” Alfie continues, not put off by the interruption. Tommy gaped at him, wide eyed. He let Alfie’s arm push him back from the edge. He had nice arms. Strong. Freddie appeared in Tommy’s mind, and he felt a sudden wave of guilt. He wasn’t sure why.

  
“Oh for fucks sake” groaned Arthur. “Fine. Stick with him, go around the long way, but dad’s going to be mad as hell” he said, turning and stalking off down the bank.

  
“Arthur!” Tommy cried, eyes darting to where Sabini and his gang had disappeared. Arthur turned back briefly, gesturing down the river.

  
“I’ll meet you down there” he said, soon disappearing behind the grey buildings on the opposite bank. The sky was grey and dull, wisps of mist along the ground and tendrils of black factory smoke curling upwards. Tommy felt tears pricking his eyes. He bit his tongue sharply, willing them away. He didn’t cry anymore.

  
“Hey, it’s okay treacle” said Alfie. “Let’s walk you down, get you back with that brother of yours”.

  
“I can do it on my own” said Tommy stubbornly, stalking off down the river. 

  
“Got no doubt about that mate, but I ain’t going nowhere, alright?” said Alfie, gravel crunching under his boots as he followed Tommy. “You’re a brave kid ain’t ya” he said after a moment. Tommy was unsure about how to reply to this, so he left it, and they walked in silence.

  
They rounded a corner, and Tommy stopped. John was walking in a circle at the end of the otherwise deserted street. His toy train was clutched in his hands, and he looked as though he’d been crying. Tommy winced as his brother’s bare feet came down on the sharp gravel, stomach sinking. Where had his shoes gone?

  
“John?” called Tommy, walking towards him. His brother spun around, relief on his face. “What are you doing?”. 

  
“Playing” he said, slightly unsure, wooden train clutched close to his chest.

“Where’s dad?”.

  
“What?”.

  
“Where did dad go?”.

  
“He left you?” asked Tommy, anger coiling within him. John nodded, flicking the wheels of his train. He had scrapes on both knees, and Tommy could see grit in the cuts. “He’s not in the room? Or the pub?”. 

  
“No” said John. “I went looking but…” he trailed off. 

  
“You got lost?” said Tommy. John nodded, rubbing his eyes, bottom lip quivering. Tommy reached him, wrapping his brother in a hug. “What happened to your shoes?” he asked quietly. It took John a moment to speak, but when he did Tommy’s anger increased tenfold.

  
“They took them” said John. 

  
“Who?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Behind him, Alfie swore as John described the gang. Wanting to rush out immediately but knowing he had to take John back to the room, and meet Arthur before he had an aneurism, Tommy held out his hand to John. He took it quickly, sniffing, before looking up at Alfie. 

  
“This is my brother John” said Tommy. He wasn’t sure what to introduce Alfie as, but he jumped in before he could speak again.

  
“Bloody hell, how many of you are there?” said Alfie, looking down at John. 

  
“Four” said Tommy. “But my sister’s at home”.

  
“Four, hmm” he said. “Jus’ me and my brother it is. You’d like him Tommy, he’s a silly boy too, always getting into scrapes, yeah”. Tommy nodded distractedly, visions of Sabini’s blood on his knuckles flooding his mind.

  
“Why do you talk like that?” said John, head tilted to the side as he regarded Alfie. His eyes were still red, but holding Tommy’s hand made him feel braver.

  
“Talk like what, kid?” he said.

  
“Different” said John, waving his free hand around in an attempt to explain.

  
“Well everyone’s a bit different, ain’t they. Would be a very boring life if we was all the same” said Alfie, scratching his head. John thought about this, before nodding in agreement.

  
Alfie continued to walk with them, until they stopped at the entrance to the pub. John, who usually had a question a minute, was silent for most of the way. Tommy walked without really seeing, a detached numbness settling over him as he realised he’d put his brother, and Alfie, in danger. Arthur was waiting by the wall, greeting them with a glare and demanding to know what had happened to John’s shoes.

Tommy didn’t wait to see the disappointment on his older brother’s face, walking a few metres away and turning to Alfie instead. Alfie was watching him warily, sensing the change.

  
“Now kid, you ain’t gonna get any ideas in that clever head of yours are you?” he asked. Tommy shrugged, already planning. Alfie shook his head, crouching down slightly as he spoke again. “Right Tommy, you listen to me” he said firmly. “If you’re planning anything now, I’m gonna wake up tomorrow yeah, and see you lyin’ face down in that fucking river”. Tommy just shrugged. 

  
“Thank you for today” he said quietly, “but I don’t need your advice”. Alfie watched him go, a deep crease in his forehead as Tommy followed his brothers into the pub. 

  
Arthur made it quite clear how he felt about Tommy on the way upstairs, but the situation didn’t quite sink in until he saw his father in the doorway, a bottle in one hand and his belt in the other. 

Arthur Snr slammed out of the room soon after he was finished, and the boys awoke in the small hours of the morning to see the drunken silhouettes of their father and an unknown woman staggering into the bedroom. He knocked the little lamp off the table as he went, and the light faded before sputtering out. John started whimpering, clutching his blanket to his chin, and Arthur shushed him quickly, crawling into his bed in case their father heard. He didn’t like crying. 

  
“It’s alright look, you can see the streetlamps outside, yeah?”.

  
“I want to go home” cried John, “I want Aunt Pol and Mama”.

  
“I know” said Arthur, “we’ll be home before you know it brother”. John sniffed, wrapping his arms around Arthur in a hug. Tommy was still where he lay, ear pressed against the lumpy pillow. His legs were still stinging with pain where his father had lashed him, and he was biting the duvet in an effort not to cry out. The bed started creaking from the next room, and Tommy swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut as high, pained gasps permeated through the thin wall. Arthur tucked John close, covering his ears with the duvet.

They drifted off soon after, the sound of Arthur’s snoring doing little to mask his father’s groans. Tommy lay awake, eyes trailing the flickers of light from the orange streetlamp dancing across the floor. The bedframe’s dull thuds against the wall increased, then petered out, the sounds from the streets outside taking over. Homesickness rose within Tommy, and he rolled over to face his brothers.

  
Moments later, the door was wrenched open, spilling light across the floor, and his father appeared, stretching. Tommy closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but they opened again in curiosity as the woman slipped out of the door behind him. She had brown hair, like his Mama, and Tommy stared as his father handed her a note and she swiftly exited. His gaze flicked back to his father, his stomach sinking as he found him staring back. The lines on his face were exaggerated by the shadows, giving him a gaunt and eerie look. 

  
“Don’t look at me with those dead eyes, boy” he said after a moment, fists clenching. Tommy wrestled with the urge to lash out, retort, but his father’s fists loomed above him as he stretched again, and Tommy turned his face into the pillow.

Looking into the mirror and seeing his mother’s eyes made him proud. His siblings all had blue eyes, but he was the only one to have the shape, and shade of Jane’s. He wouldn’t let his father ruin that for him.

Their father’s bedroom was empty the next morning, and after his restless night Tommy was glad of it. His suitcase and belongings were gone, and there was no breakfast left out on the table. He opened the door, and promptly tripped over something in the entrance, only managing to regain his balance by grabbing onto the banisters ungracefully. Cursing under his breath, he looked around. John’s shoes, clean and shiny once again, had been placed outside the door.

There was a piece of paper beneath them, with the initials A.S. scrawled on in pencil. 

  
Alfie Solomons. 

  
Tommy picked up the note, turning the paper over. Printed on the other side was a blank shipping form, with a Camden address at the foot of the page. There was also a number, for a Mr I. T. Solomons. Alfie’s…father?

Tommy heard his brothers stirring from inside, and quickly folded up the note, carefully tucking it into his jacket pocket. John was delighted to have his shoes back, and Tommy glad to see his brother’s usual excitement return after yesterday’s events. Arthur was more suspicious however, and pestered Tommy with questions to which he feigned ignorance. He pinched the folded corner of paper through his jacket, and bit his lip to stifle a smile at what Alfie had done. It was too good to be true really, and Tommy was almost expecting an attack as the boys trudged downstairs to use the phone. 

  
Polly picked up on the first ring, and Arthur was immediately bombarded with questions. No, they weren’t badly hurt, no, they weren’t lost, but yes, their father had left them. Arthur held the phone away from his ear at her outburst.

  
“I knew it” she cried. “I let that man look after his own fucking children for two days and he’s bloody left you all by yourself”.

  
“It’s okay, Pol” tried Arthur, but his aunt talked over him. 

  
“I’m coming down there right now to give that man a piece of my mind” she muttered. After Polly had argued with someone, most likely Uncle Charlie, on the other end of the line for a few minutes, a plan was formed.

  
“You’ve still got that bit of money I gave you Arthur?” asked Polly.

  
“Yes Aunt Pol” he said, she sighed in relief.

  
“You get yourself down to the station, and buy three tickets home this instant” she said, “Uncle Charlie is going to meet you when you arrive”. Arthur agreed. “Will you boys be okay? You’ll make sure you’re on the right train won’t you?”.

  
“It’s alright Pol” said Arthur, throwing a small smile at his brothers, “we’re together”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled SO much with this chapter. Like a ridiculous amount. But anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! :)


	3. 1901

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ada starts school, Tommy thinks about girls…and boys, and a furry friend is introduced to the family (much to Polly’s distress). 
> 
> This chapter is basically a load of domestic things strung together. Fluff, family shenanigans, minimal angst (but there is a whole storm of angst heading your way in a few chapters).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to recent events I’m taking a break from tumblr/the internet, but here’s me resurfacing to post a new chapter and add more stuff to my queue.  
> I’m really sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy <3

“Oh, will you sit still” Polly groaned, smacking the back of John’s head. He stopped wriggling, for a grand total of five seconds, before resuming his task of trying to kick Arthur under the kitchen table. “John. I will shave your head right off I swear to God” said Polly, attempting to guide the razor across the back of his head.

“I am sitting still!” he protested, bringing his feet behind the chair legs to prove his innocence. Arthur’s legs could still reach however, and he waited until Polly was deep in concentration before sending a hard kick to John’s shin. At his cry, Polly slammed the razor down onto the table.

“Out” she said, pointing Arthur towards the door. She didn’t want to actually cut anyone, despite them both driving her absolutely mad. “Acting like a bloody child”.

“That’s a bad word” John informed her. Not as bad as the ones she wanted to use. Arthur took his time, dragging his feet along the floor and ‘accidentally’ knocking John’s arm on the way out.

She needed wine. And whiskey. In the same glass.

Ten minutes later, John’s hair was done. He scurried off immediately, leaving Polly’s warning about kicking his brother hanging in the kitchen. Cleaning the razor, she called for Tommy, but there was no answer. The imminent return to school (signified by the fresh haircut) must have him up to his neck in summer homework, she thought optimistically. Who was she kidding…

Cutting Tommy’s hair in the past had been a long and arduous task. It was easier now he was older, but he still hadn’t fully recovered his dignity from the baldness incident of 1896, and was therefore extremely cautious when it came to having his head shaved.

She entered the boys’ room to see Tommy leaning out of the window, arms resting on the sill. Thin wisps of smoke curled above his head, and Polly shivered, the autumn air from outside chilling the room.

“Thomas” she said warningly. He jumped, quickly flinging his cigarette down onto the street below, and spinning round. She glared at him in frustration. “Where do you keep getting those from?”. He shrugged, but at least had the decency to look sheepish under her gaze.

“It’s bloody freezing” said Polly, tugging the window down and flicking the latch. “Let’s get your hair sorted and you can go and play”. Tommy followed her out of the room.

“I’m too old for playing” he lied, eyes falling on his wooden horses on the landing even as he spoke. Polly shook her head, remembering a time when nothing could prise Tommy away from his toys. She’d seen the way he stared at older gangs on the streets, his natural curiosity pulling him into something that was very hard to get out of. She pushed the thought away. Tommy was only eleven for God’s sake, he had years before his father’s devilment emerged.

Haircut done and school bag packed for the following day, Tommy returned to his spot on the window sill. Arthur was on the street below, and having tired of annoying John, was throwing a deflated ball up for Tommy to catch. Arthur didn’t play with him as much as he used to, so Tommy was happy to join in, missing the hours they used to spend dreaming up worlds together. Tommy was the first to see Ada and Uncle Charlie heading down the lane, and he waved, grinning as Ada held her new school bag aloft. She spent the rest of the evening buckling and unbuckling the thing in excitement, and hardly slept a wink that night. Tommy didn’t have the heart to tell her school wasn’t nearly as fantastical as she was imagining.

The morning arrived, bright and chilly, and the family gathered in the kitchen for breakfast.

“Our Ada, all grown up” said Arthur, holding Ada’s hand as she twirled, crumpled pinafore fanning out. Not quite a ball gown, but it could have been for the way everyone cheered.

“And you’re going to be in my class Ada!” John cried.

“God help their poor teacher” said Polly under her breath. Tommy laughed, pulling on his jacket. After Polly had extracted three cuddly toys and a plate from Ada’s bag, they left the house, Arthur and Polly waving them off at the door. Arthur had finished school in the summer, and now worked in Charlie’s yard, chopping wood, hammering nails, fixing things. He was good at all that stuff. He wasn’t paid much, but earning three pennies a week was a lot more than others his age were doing for their families.

Polly was ecstatic either way, as Arthur’s income enabled her to quit her cleaning job in the evenings, and enrol in an accountancy class at a night school across town. The first class wasn't for a month or two, but she was already beside herself with excitement. Finally, _finally_ , her life was starting. She was slightly apprehensive about leaving the kids on a regular basis; who knows what trouble they’d get up to, but she’d given Arthur a nice long talk about responsibility, some of which had hopefully stuck.

Jane was there of course, but she’d spent the vast majority of the past few months’ asleep upstairs, which unfortunately Polly didn’t see changing anytime soon. At least there was an adult in the home, in case Arthur decided his friends were more important than babysitting.

 

Ada kept up a constant stream of chatter on the way to school, about exactly what she should learn and exactly how it should be taught to her. Tommy tried to cut in with some brotherly advice; listen, do your homework, don’t punch anyone with these surnames or _I’ll_ be the one to get it in the neck etc., which was naturally ignored. It would be okay though. Ada could look out for herself, and already had a mean right hook on her if anyone got nasty, much to Polly’s delight and their mother’s horror.

By the time they arrived, the yard was bustling with kids, and Tommy quickly lost sight of his siblings as John pulled Ada off towards the schoolhouse. Spying Freddie and Danny amongst their classmates, he elbowed his way through the crowd to reach them.

“Alright Tommy” greeted Freddie, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll never guess what Danny’s got”. Tommy looked to Danny, who grinned widely as he pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“No way” Tommy said when he pulled back, in an equally hushed tone.

“Found it in me dad’s coat last night. He’s gonna sort that Whitton out I reckon” said Danny.

“Or that mad horse of yours” said Freddie, laughing at his friends’ matching frowns.

“Jus’ cause you don’t even have a horse” said Danny.

“When can we see it?” asked Tommy eagerly. Guns were not uncommon in Small Heath, far from it in fact, but he’d never actually held one, never fired one. Blades were far easier to steal, so staring at the outline of his father’s gun through his jacket was the closest he’d got thus far. Arthur Snr had never let his gun out of his sight, even when he was drunk, and Polly used to joke that it was the only thing he could be relied upon for. He’d taken Arthur out shooting once, to Tommy’s jealousy, but his rather graphic descriptions of what he’d do to anyone who stole his gun was enough to put Tommy off.

Danny’s dad was as forgetful as anything, much like his son, making this gun a far easier target.

Before they could make plans however, the bell rang, and the boys reluctantly made their way towards the extension. This building, made for the older kids, was far more makeshift and patchwork than the main schoolhouse, and Tommy wasn’t looking forward to their winter classes. Other than that, things were looking up if Arthur’s time in the top class was anything to go by.

He’d hardly turned up for one thing, and whenever he caused trouble a sweet smile was enough for Mrs Changretta to look the other way. Unfortunately, school restructuring meant that Tommy missed out on Mrs Changretta altogether, and instead ended up with a rather frail looking elderly man called Mr Pearson.

He seemed to live in a constant state of exhaustion, and also looked partially sighted, meaning Tommy was looking forward to bunking off without Pearson even noticing his absence. After ten minutes of silent work only disturbed by the whizz of paper balls Billy was lobbing at the back of Tommy’s head, Pearson went so still in his chair that they all began to speculate whether he was still breathing or not.

Turns out, he was, and Tommy let his daydreams carry him off for the rest of the morning rather than listen to any more drivel about algebra. Lunchtime rolled around, and he, Danny and Freddie entertained themselves by acting out what would likely happen to poor Whitton at the hands of Mr Owens’ gun.

It was strange to see Ada running around the yard. She’d never liked being left behind while her brothers went off to school. And now here she was with them, wearing an oversized pinafore that used to be Polly’s, a wide gap toothed smile on her face and her freshly cut bob dancing around her shoulders. She bounded up to Tommy a few minutes later, holding hands with another girl, and Tommy just managed to catch that her name was Jessie before the two ran off again.

After school, Danny’s mother was waiting by the gates, Danny turning back to shrug apologetically at his friends as he was pulled away. Tommy and Freddie glanced at each other uneasily. They decided to go the pasture that afternoon, instead of playing in the streets…not that they were scared or anything. And if they walked John and Ada home first, nobody had to know.

 

An hour later, Tommy and Freddie were stretched out on their backs in the field, horses galloping around the paddock nearby as clouds meandered across the sky. It was almost too cold for this now, and Tommy wanted to be outdoors as much as possible before he was forced into Arthur’s old winter coat every time he left the house, which was too thin to keep him from the chill, and merely stopped the free feel of the breeze against his skin.

“Do you like anyone?” asked Freddie. The question came out of the blue, they’d been discussing Danny’s father a second ago, and Tommy turned his head to look at Freddie, his profile clear against the sky.

“I’m not that cold am I?”.

“Not like that” Freddie laughed. “I mean a girl. Do you like any girls?”. Tommy had known what he’d meant. All he heard from Arthur these days was ‘girl talk’, when he wasn’t ignoring him in favour of Irene, or Erin, or…who was it now?

“Do you?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah” said Freddie sadly, “but she doesn’t like me back”.

“How do you know?” said Tommy, propping himself up on an elbow. He didn’t like the sound of this. It was the first he’d heard about it, and he and Freddie told each other everything, didn’t they? Freddie turned his head away before he spoke.

“Because she likes _you_ Tommy” he said, the intonation giving away his annoyance. Tommy frowned, before sitting up fully.

“Is it Greta?” he asked. She was the only girl who ever played with him, other than Ada of course. She was funny, smart, and pretty too. Freddie nodded, not moving from his spot on the grass. “Freddie” groaned Tommy, poking his friend in the shoulder. “She probably only likes me cause I’m the only boy that talks to her”. Freddie shrugged.

“Are you going to kiss her?” he asked.

“What? No!” cried Tommy, realising too late that his reaction was far more opinionated than Freddie was expecting.  “I mean” he tried again, “she’d like _you_ much more if you only tried speaking to her instead of putting worms in her desk”.

“Hey” protested Freddie, “how was I to know Billy had moved seats while I was ill?”. They laughed for a while at the memory, before Freddie spoke again.

“I’d like to kiss her”. Tommy felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Maybe he was getting ill. But as his eyes flicked down to Freddie’s lips as he smiled, Tommy wondered if there was another reason his insides were full of butterflies.

He’d pondered this matter rather a lot lately.

The first thing he’d heard about homosexuals had been from his father. They’d been walking home from the boxing ring a few years ago, Arthur Snr having had one too many whiskeys, and come across two young men in an alleyway shortcut to Watery Lane. One was leaning against the wall, whilst the other rested his hand on the bricks behind his head, leaning in close. They were just laughing and talking, and Tommy wouldn’t have given it a moment’s thought if his father hadn’t stopped dead in the street, turning down the alley.

The men were already long gone by the time his father had staggered to their spot, but he spent the rest of the trip home muttering about them, and it was the most Tommy had ever heard him speak of the Bible. He’d been too young to understand it then, but now?

He sighed.

He probably didn’t need to worry much about what his father thought anyway. They’d only seen him once since their disastrous trip to London, when he’d turned up one weekend at the boxing ring. He’d bullied Arthur into fighting him, and then left whilst his son was still bleeding on the ground. He hadn’t even gone to see their mother, nor Polly.

Tommy had been close to confronting him, but Arthur wouldn’t let him, holding firmly onto his wrist as blood dripped down his chin. Tommy thought about him sometimes, wondered where he was, but was nevertheless glad to have him out of the way.

 

The walk home was quiet, both Tommy and Freddie lost in thought. A dark raincloud had settled over Small Heath, and didn’t let up for weeks, sending everyone into an irritable mood. Danny’s father had died in hospital, from multiple gunshot wounds. Of course Tommy knew guns could kill; that was the point of them, but…weren’t they only supposed to kill bad people? The hero never died in his storybooks. Maybe Mr Owens had been a villain after all.

The approach of Christmas and the school holidays cheered everyone up a bit, as did Danny’s return to school at the end of November.

Tommy also had a new hobby; dancing. Smoking around the back of the town hall at night had become something of a habit. It was quiet, as quiet as you could get in Small Heath, as the majority of the pubs and gambling dens were on the opposite side of the town. Tommy liked to lean against the brick wall and smoke, gazing up at the night sky. In the summer, they opened the windows, and Tommy could hear violins and cellos and countless other instruments from within, tapping his foot along with the rhythm.

Freddie often accompanied him, but Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about Freddie these days. It was nice to spend the evening alone sometimes, away from his siblings and friends. Tommy had wandered across to the hall, hoping to hear the music, but the chill of autumn had been supplanted by a bitterly cold winter, and the windows remained firmly shut. He shivered, regretting this decision somewhat as he saw a mother and son cross the street ahead of him, both decked out in thick fluffy coats and scarves. Night had fallen, and he could feel his fingertips going numb as he deliberated what to do.

The large clock on the building opposite chimed nine, and Tommy made his decision, slipping in behind an elderly couple entering the hall. He ducked behind a column, watching people in their fineries enter the main auditorium. There was a door on the right, marked with that tempting ‘Do not enter, staff only’ sign and when there was a lull in arrivals Tommy crossed the empty hallway and pulled open the door to reveal a staircase.

Pleasantly surprised it wasn’t just a cupboard, or something equally boring, he climbed the stairs to the top. Judging by the amount of dust on the handle, nobody had been up here for a long time. Tommy blew the cloud of fluff away, pushing open the door to reveal the loft. Boxes littered the floor, the sad remains of bent flutes and snapped violin strings poking out. There was a dusty old gramophone, and a few cracked records strewn about the place, but other than that it was all beams and lead pipes and spider’s webs.

The building was old, and the boards creaked dangerously under Tommy’s feet as he made his way across the attic. The screws in the floorboards looked loose and rusty, and Tommy could see gaps where they’d fallen away up ahead, providing chinks of light where the missing tiles in the ceiling offered only black.

Not stopping to consider the fact that this could be a very bad idea, Tommy continued walking, swinging around a beam and crouching down at its base. Through a small gap, he could see the orchestra far below, a few metres ahead. The rows of seats to the side of the dancefloor were mostly full, and Tommy was surprised to see what he assumed were people of standing in the audience. Small Heath wasn’t exactly known as a cultural centre.

He moved further into the room, and decided a stronger looking horizontal beam would be a good place to sit and listen to the music. He clung to a dusty pipe for support, swinging his legs across and pushing himself up onto the beam.

It wasn’t the most comfortable; in order to balance himself he had to twist around awkwardly to grab the post behind him, but when the music started up again and he caught glimpses of the dancers swirling below him, it was worth it.

The sound here was much better than from outside, and the protection of the mostly formed roof prevented the bite of that chilling cold that numbed his fingers and wound its way down to his bones. He swung his feet in time to the music, the thrill of being somewhere he definitely shouldn’t and nobody knowing it putting a giddy smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” came a voice. Tommy started, craning his neck to see a girl standing in the doorway. She was dressed well, too well to be a Small Heath kid, buttoned into a crisp white blouse and a navy petticoat. The long blond hair trailing down to her waist made her look like the princess in Ada’s storybook.

“The door was open” she said. Shit. “It’s staff only, so I thought I should take a look”.

“You’re staff?” said Tommy, disbelievingly. She had to be at least three years younger than he was.

“My mum’s performing” she said proudly. “I can go where I want”.

“What does she play?” asked Tommy, peeking back through the gap in the floor, relieving the strain on his neck.

“Don’t you think we should talk about this after I’ve rescued you?” she said, exasperated. Tommy squawked indignantly.

“I don’t need rescuing!” he insisted, trying to look relaxed in his precarious position. The girl looked at him expectantly. Right, of course. Time to get back without falling through the floor. Tommy scanned the area, noting the spots he’d used to get here, and the surrounding beams. It suddenly looked a lot more complicated than it had ten minutes ago. Steeling himself, and slightly annoyed that this girl had interrupted a perfectly enjoyable evening, he slid off the beam and began to make his way back across the floor. The girl was shifting nervously, and brought a hand up to bite at her nails when a board gave a particularly loud creak.

“Not there!” she cried suddenly, and Tommy flung an arm out to stop himself instinctively, glaring at her.

“You’re not helping” he said. She fell silent for a moment, watching him right himself and manoeuvre around a couple more beams.

“I’m Grace, by the way”. Tommy didn’t answer, more focused on removing his foot from a floorboard that looked as if it had mere moments before it snapped. “What’s your name?”. Tommy jumped, swinging from an overhead pipe for a second, which protested loudly at his weight, and landed in front of Grace. He did a mock bow, and she laughed.

“Tommy”. A smile.

“Your clothes are filthy” she said, gesturing to his dusty attire.

“Yours aren’t, rich girl”.  Brushing himself down, he leant against the doorframe. She held out her hand.

“Do you want to dance?”. Tommy was slightly taken aback by this.

“I don’t know how” he said after a moment.

“I’ll teach you. It’s easy, come on!”.

 

“Which one’s your mum?” asked Tommy, once Grace had pulled him through the hall, on the right floor this time, and up to the stage.

“The singer, right at the front” said Grace, beaming. “We’re staying in hotels and travelling around England so she can perform. Isn’t she brilliant? They say I could be a singer myself someday”.

“I’d like to see that” said Tommy.

“Come on, let’s dance” she said, pulling him into the crowd. Tommy was stiff and self-conscious at first, treading on Grace’s feet and glancing around the room for any familiar faces. Grace laughed when they stumbled, but not in a cruel way, and Tommy soon found himself smiling and pulled into the rhythm of the music. By the time the orchestra took a break, Grace had taught Tommy some basic steps, and they twirled amongst the other dancers for an hour or so until they collapsed, exhausted, into chairs next to the stage. Grace’s mum came down from the platform to greet them, eyes widening as she glanced at her watch.

“Say goodbye, Grace” her mother instructed, glancing at Tommy distractedly, and waving over a friend to take Grace back to the room.

“There’s another concert next Friday” she said, “this is our last stop before we go back to Ireland. Would you like to come?”. They made plans, and Tommy waved goodbye and slipped out of the door before Grace’s mother could ask any questions.

 

His walk home turned into a run in an attempt to warm his blood, but his fingers were still shaking by the time he slid his key into the door. Polly had finally been persuaded to get him one cut after she’d found him half way up the house, clinging to several knotted sheets at three am, Arthur half hanging out of the window in an attempt to pull him up. Avoiding the creaky stair, he crept past Polly’s door and into his room.

John was fast asleep under the covers, but Arthur wasn’t home. It wasn’t uncommon these days for him to be gone, but Tommy usually lay awake until he heard his brother’s footsteps on the landing, or the rustle of the sheets as he slid into bed. He didn’t come back at all that night. Tommy caught a few winks of sleep, but woke whilst the sky was still dark, watching the street from his window until the orange sunrise dragged itself wearily over Small Heath, the dark clouds finally dissipating.

Arthur turned up around lunchtime, mostly sober, and Polly, having had quite enough of the lot of them pressed a few pennies into their hands for the fair. Charlie came round in the afternoon to visit his sister, and enjoy a hot cup tea away from the yard.

 

Polly took advantage of his visit, enacting her plans to rearrange the sleeping arrangements in the house without the hindrance of her nephews and niece. The boys were getting far too old to be cramped up in one room together. In the past year, Arthur had started growing at a slightly alarming rate, much to Tommy’s distress. He could wear his father’s old clothing now, which was useful, but his long limbs were also causing some problems. He'd been shaken awake by an indignant Tommy on more than one occasion, having accidentally smacked him as he rolled over in bed.

But Tommy’s nighttime wanderings and susceptibility to nightmares made it clear he still needed his older brother. However much he’d deny it. John, although small, was extremely messy, and seemed to relocate every single toy in the house to their bedroom floor on a regular basis, which infuriated his brothers to no end. Despite John and Ada bickering at least five times a day, they were inseparable, and so close in age it only made sense for them to share a room.

Polly felt no remorse in chucking out her brother’s old boxes of files, endless sheets of paper and grand business plans, which took up an entire room on the landing. Who the hell needed two offices? Especially if they were never even home to use them?

Curly was called in from the stables to help, and soon John’s bed was squeezed through the doorway and moved into the now clean and empty room down the hall. Ada’s new bed, courtesy of Charlie, followed, and Polly inwardly cheered about having her own space back after four years of sharing with the youngest Shelby. Jane managed to make it downstairs to see the new arrangement, and say a sentimental goodbye to the Shelby cot.

“I remember putting little Arthur in here” she said, running her hand across the wood. Polly smiled at the memory. She was only seven at the time, and was beyond excited to have a baby to look after.

“I reached through and he gripped onto my finger” said Polly fondly. Little teeth marks, John’s handiwork, covered the posts, and Polly had an exasperated smile on her face as she observed the marks where Tommy had actually removed two of the posts and wiggled out. She’d found the empty cot and loose posts on the floor the next morning, and was in complete panic until she found him curled up on the floor under Jane’s bed. God knows how he’d done it.

“I’ll keep it out the back” said Charlie, “then you can have it again if you need it”. He quietened, a deep crease in his forehead.

“We won’t need it” said Polly, firmly.

Jane nodded sadly, before giving Polly a teasing smile.

“Maybe for children of your own, ey Pol?”.

“Give over” she laughed. She’d had quite enough of putting children before her career for the time being. But…maybe one day they’d use the cot again.

The boys’ room looked huge without John’s bed, and they spread out Arthur and Tommy’s, Charlie surprising Polly later that afternoon by delivering a small desk he’d been working on. It slid neatly between the beds, making the room look cosy and far more practical than before.

It was a far cry from a few winters past, where the cold had been so bad, and the price of wood so high, they’d chopped up the beds to burn in the fireplace. They spared the cot; John was only a baby, and Jane’s bed, but the boys and Polly were on mattresses until the following summer. She’d tried to make it fun, like a camping game, but the novelty wore off after a few nights. Even when they had beds again, Tommy would wake up in a cold sweat more often than not, thinking he could feel bugs crawling over his skin.

 

Later that evening, Polly glanced over her library books one last time. It had been hard to remind her brain how to do calculations after such a long time, but she felt more confident now she’d got some practice in. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening. Practically jumping with excitement, Polly entered the kitchen to grab her bag, stopping in her tracks at the scene within.

The entire floor was covered in hay. Her first thought was that Tommy had brought one of the horses into the house again, but this time the culprits were Ada and John. They were sprawled in the middle of the floor, heads together, giggling at something Polly couldn’t see. Their heads snapped up when she coughed pointedly, gesturing at the mess.

Curled up in Ada’s lap, was a small shivering rabbit. It was white in places, but its paws and sides were a dirty grey, the fur matted and unkempt.

“Ada” Polly said calmly. “Why is there a rabbit in our kitchen?”.

“Because she’s cold”.

“It’s a boy” said John.

“Is not” retorted Ada, cuddling the animal close. To its credit, it didn’t seem to mind. Any other being that could tolerate the Shelby children should be given a medal in her view. That being said, it was still a dirty rabbit, and it was still in her kitchen.

“I don’t care if it’s cold, put it back where you found it. And look at the mess you’ve made” said Polly, moving some hay out of her path with her shoe.

“Aunt Pol, you just destroyed the turret” whined John.

“Turret?”

“We made her a castle to live in” said Ada. “Out of hay”.

“For God’s sake! Get it out, now”.

“No!” Ada cried, “we found her all alone outside, she doesn’t want to go back out there”. Polly pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t have time for this. And she would not have her good mood ruined a by a bloody rabbit.

“Ada Jane Shelby, you listen to me. If that rabbit is still in this house when I get home tonight, you’ll not sit down for a week”. Ada glared right back, and would have likely folded her arms if they weren’t full of fluff. John leaned over, holding something orange out to the creature. It sniffed the air, nose twitching, before tucking in.

“That’s not the carrot I bought from the market today is it?” Polly asked in a low voice. John shook his head, the lie written all over his face.

 

Slamming the door, Polly marched down the lane. Let Arthur deal with the bloody thing, just think about the class, she told herself. Despite her anger about the mess and the wasted food, she was still excited. It was quite a trek to the school, but Polly supposed accountants in training didn’t want drunkards bursting in on them halfway through a lesson. She arrived right on time, and swiftly closed the door on the frigid air she’d left behind.

By the time the lecturer arrived, there were around twenty students, most of whom had clearly travelled from out of town. She was the only girl, which she had been expecting, but it still sent a shiver of unease down her spine as the men turned to stare at her. No worries, she calmed herself, it would only take one woman to put this lot to shame. Deliberately busying herself with her books, she avoided their gazes and glanced over the course overview once again, trying to concentrate. Bloody rabbit. Arthur had better get rid of it.

“Something troubling you?”.

Polly started slightly, and looked to her left. A man had slid into the seat next to her, leaning on the desk as he smiled. His eyes were a deep blue-green colour, and his dark hair was styled upwards, a few strands falling around his face.

 “Just- just a rabbit” she said. He laughed, and Polly faced the front quickly as the tutor called for their attention. If this stupidly attractive boy made her mince her words, she’d have nothing to do with him. She’d learnt that lesson four years ago.

The class was just as she’d hoped. She couldn’t quite process that she was actually here, and the life she’d dreamed up for herself when she was just thirteen was finally starting. Polly was pretty sure she spent the entire two hours with a deranged smile on her face, but she didn’t care. She caught the man’s eye from time to time when he smiled at her, and became more confident, even leaning over at one point and correcting a mistake he’d made. She wasn’t sure how he’d react and could imagine the earful she’d get from her brother if she did such a thing to him, but the man just nodded and listened, eager to learn. She liked that.

The class ended far too soon, but Polly packed up quickly, thoughts of what the kids could be getting up to in her absence taking precedence. She paused near the door, glancing back at the man she’d sat beside. He was engaged in conversation with some friends, and Polly smiled before ducking out of the room.

She was already anticipating the following week, planning to get some practice at the harder problems before the next class. She made it halfway down the dark street, before she heard loud footsteps behind her, instinctively reaching for the pocketknife hidden within her coat. Spinning around, the man from the class had caught up with her. At her expression, he waved his hands in apology.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you” he said, “I just-”

“I should be going” said Polly reluctantly, thinking of the children.

“Stay” he said, reaching for her hand, “have a drink with me. If not tonight, perhaps some other time?”. She bit her lip, enjoying the feeling of his fingers intertwining with hers. Should she go for this?

“I don’t even know your name” she said.

 “Edward” he replied, kissing her hand. “Edward Gray”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...there's mini Grace, Mr Gray and a bunny now. The family is growing!  
> I also have a HC that Arthur once got hold of a razor and shaved all Tommy's hair off and no one can change my mind
> 
> Thank you for reading, I'll be back soon <3
> 
> Also if you missed it, I wrote a thing with an even tinier Tommy, which is the next work in this series :)


	4. 1902

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly's very much in love, Arthur Snr makes an unwelcome return, Arthur Jnr is arrested and Tommy's deepest secret may not be so hidden after all.
> 
> Or, a truly accurate summary: Arthur needs a hug and Tommy is a tiny gay romantic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hanukkah! <3 This chapter is pretty Arthur-centric, I hope you like it! 
> 
> WARNINGS: slightly gory descriptions of injuries/blood, homophobia, outing, child abuse, death threats (it's an angsty one guys)

Polly was woken by the yellow sunlight, streaming in through the open curtains. She leant back into the warmth behind her, and gave a sleepy smile when Eddie rolled over, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Morning Pol” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. She relaxed into his hold, forgetting about housework and children and classes and all the worries of the day for a peaceful moment. The familiar accompaniment of clanging metal and the shouts of workers were present through the morning haze, but the sounds were distant, and her eyes slid closed again.

The bedroom door burst open, and John charged in, running up to the bed. Polly groaned, attempting to pull the covers over her head as he clambered on. Some things never changed.

“Aunt Pol, come quick” he cried, bouncing on the bed in an attempt to rouse her.

“What” she deadpanned, making no move to rise.

“Dad’s home!”. She sat bolt upright, Eddie groaning as he was dislodged.

“What?”

“He’s really here, come see!” said John excitedly, pulling on her wrist. Oh, she’d come and see alright. Waving John out of the room, she pulled off her nightgown, ignoring Eddie’s appreciative whistle from the bed as she dressed. Sensing that this wasn’t the time, Eddie pulled on a shirt, joining Polly at her dresser.

“You alright?” he murmured, kissing her temple. She rolled up her sleeves.

“There’s going to be a lot of shouting” she said. “You might want to stay here”.

“As if I’d miss this” he replied, grabbing his trousers. Polly left the room before he was ready, hurrying down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sure enough, Arthur Snr was seated at the table, a plate laden with sandwiches in front of him. His hair was far longer than he’d worn it before, and he had a fresh scar on his cheek, not yet healed.

“Pollyanna” he said as she entered, inclining his head with a pained smile. She leant over the table, grabbing the plate and setting it firmly on the side, shooting a glare at Arthur Jnr, who was lingering by his father’s chair. They didn’t have food to waste on this man. John was seated beside his father, but Ada and Tommy were in the doorway, the latter flicking at a bit of peeling paint, deliberately ignoring his father. Polly attempted to smooth out her clothing, conscious that the kids had all been up and dressed before her.

“Get out” she said simply. “Before your wife sees you and you do her any more damage”.

“But Aunt Pol-”

“Shut it” she said, glaring at her nephew.

“It’s alright son” said Arthur. “This is my home”.

“Like fuck it is” she said, breaking her rule of not swearing in front of the children. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He either needed to stay, for real this time, or get out of their lives. And she couldn’t see the former happening any time soon.

“It’s my name on the lease”.

“Yes, because men like _you_ decided women aren’t capable of signing for their own fucking houses. You’re never here-”.

“Now let’s not turn this into an ‘issue’” said Arthur, dismissing any attempts to educate him about women’s rights. “And I’m here now, sister. I’m going to make things right”.

“Like hell you are. You drop in, get your kid’s hopes up, get your wife’s hopes up, then a week later you’ve-” she lowered her voice, turning her back to the kids, who had all retreated into the hallway, “got your thieving whore groping hands all over what little money we have, blowing it all on whiskey!”. Arthur’s face had turned cloudy, and he rose from his chair, standing a head taller than Polly. She wasn’t intimidated; she knew his ways, but to Eddie, who had just stumbled down the stairs whilst pulling on his socks, the situation looked fairly alarming.

“Hey! Get back” he cried, sidestepping the kids gathered in the doorway, and rushing to put himself between them.

“Who the fuck is this?” Arthur demanded of Polly

“Don’t talk to her like that” said Eddie.

“Ed, stay out of it” said Polly tersely, attempting to push him aside.

“I’m only trying to he-”.

“I can look after _myself_. Please just go back upstairs”.

She really didn’t need a fistfight right now. They’d used the last of the bandages yesterday, when they’d all gone to the pasture, and Tommy insisted he could climb the tallest tree just as quickly as Arthur. Scraped elbows and knees aside, her brother was a boxer, and though Eddie wasn’t exactly unfit, she knew who would win in a fight.

“Are you fucking my sister?” bellowed Arthur, taking in their messy hair and hastily thrown on clothing.

“Arthur!” Polly cried, gesturing to all four of his children gathered in the hall. “Out, the lot of you”. They made no move to exit, though Arthur Jnr did attempt to cover Ada’s ears. She shook him off. 

“So what if I am? What’s it to you?” said Eddie, squaring up to him.

“Edward!”.

“What’s it to me?” repeated Arthur, incredulous. “She’s my sister you bastard”.

“Oh, you care about me now do you?” said Polly. “You can’t abandon your family and then waltz back in-”

“I didn’t abandon anyone” Arthur defended. Polly scoffed loudly.

“Where were you, dad?” asked Arthur Jnr.

“All over son. Busy with the business, earning us money”.

“See” said Arthur, shoving Tommy’s shoulder. “He _was_ working”

“Busy with the business” echoed Polly, “you’ve got nothing to your name you bloody liar-”

“Why did he never call you then?” Tommy shot back at his brother. “Huh? Why did he-”

“You can’t leave her with nothing and then dictate who she’s seeing-”

“ _I’m_ the head of this household and I can bloody decide who-”

“Shut up!” screamed Ada. “Mama’s sleeping”. The kitchen fell into an uneasy silence. Arthur Snr shifted, pulling at his collar. Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, chancing a sheepish glance at Polly, who was shaking her head. Tommy and Arthur’s clothing was askew from where they’d fought, and Tommy stalked out, slamming the front door behind him. John wavered awkwardly, debating whether he should follow, and when nobody spoke he grabbed Ada’s hand, pulling her out with him. Arthur Snr grabbed his coat from the back of his chair.

“Come on son” he said, looking Polly in the eye as he grasped Arthur’s shoulder. “We’re going to the ring”. She glared daggers at him as he passed, and took great pleasure in locking the door behind him in the knowledge that he didn’t have a key. She knew it was petty, but the image of him struggling to get inside his ‘own’ house was pretty funny. He might even decide it was too much effort, and bugger off again.

“You okay?” Eddie asked tentatively.

“That bloody bastard” she sighed, heading to the kitchen and slamming open the cupboard door, dumping the last few vegetables onto the counter.

Tommy had managed to steal a crate of them a few days ago, after he’d heard Polly complaining about how sick she was of lard and eggs. He’d plopped them down in front of her proudly, and though Polly didn’t exactly approve of all the stealing, it was very sweet. They were planning to save the last ones for a few more days, but she needed distracting right now, and cooking a big meal for them to eat that night gave her something to do. Eddie twirled his finger around a loose curl falling out of her bun.

“Am I staying for dinner?”

“If you want to risk it”.

“Are you mad at me?”.

“No” she said, grabbing a large knife.

She began chopping with more force than necessary, putting the end of the carrot aside to give to Florence. True to her word, Ada hadn’t returned the rabbit to where she’d found it some months ago, shivering down by the Cut. Polly suspected a family pet had given birth to a litter, which had then been abandoned by the river. She had taken some time to warm up to the creature; as if they didn’t already have enough mouths to feed, but Florence had well and truly wormed her way into Polly’s heart.

Ada and John had also surprised her. She’d thought the novelty of a pet would wear off after a month or so, and she’d be the one stuck with the responsibility, but Florence had soon become the most loved rabbit in Birmingham. She had grown considerably from the tiny little thing she’d been in winter, with entirely white fur save for a grey splodge on her front paw. Ada had made her a cardboard box bed filled with hay, but she had free reign of the house, her preferred spots including the foot of Tommy’s bed and stretching out in front of the fireplace in the evenings. Nobody really appreciated the layer of fur covering the entire house (how could such a small animal produce that much fluff?), but a spare blanket had been sacrificed, and took the brunt of the shedding.

“I think I will stay” Eddie decided. “He’s got to get used to me after all”.

“Sticking around, are you?”.

“As long as you’ll have me” he grinned, wrapping his arms around her waist and dropping his mouth to her neck. Though they’d been together for a few months now, she was still hyper aware of his touch, one peck sending shivers down her spine. She couldn’t let him get away with anything though.

“You can only eat with us if you do some work” she said, raising her eyebrows. He groaned. God, he had exactly the same attitude as her nephews sometimes. “You’re behind”. It was true, there was a whole stack of accountancy papers on his desk that he hadn’t so much as looked at. In comparison, Polly’s were all filed neatly, colour coded and arranged by topic.

“It doesn’t come quite as easy to all of us, Pol”.

“Certainly helps to look at a book”.

“Fine” he tutted, releasing her and grabbing his jacket. “I’ll go to the library. Happy?”.

“Very” she grinned, kissing him in farewell. Before this whole mess with her brother this morning, that was the only thing she’d had to worry about with Eddie. Those bastard friends of his getting him behind. She was head over heels in love, that was for certain (not that she’d be admitting it before he did, of course). He wasn’t exactly swimming in wealth either, but his family was well-connected, and he already had an apprenticeship placement for after their course had finished. She wished she’d been so lucky, but there was still another year to figure it out. She just hoped that gang he’d got himself into wouldn’t blow things for him.

It was just a little thing though. Every couple had something to worry about, right?

 

By the next morning, Arthur Snr was back to his old ways, staggering in just as Tommy, John and Ada were leaving for school. He swung a hand in their direction, whether to clap them on the back or hit someone Tommy wasn’t quite sure, but he was so inebriated that they all easily dodged, slipping out of the front door. Arthur Jnr was stuck with helping his father up the stairs, but gave up when he collapsed on the landing, already snoring. He left for work soon after, and Polly spent the day simply stepping over her brother rather than attempting to move him anywhere. Though if her foot slipped once or twice, nobody had to know.

Tommy had a rather good day at school. They were unusual, especially now that he hardly went, but not impossible. Mr Pearson had died over the winter, not a surprise to any of them, but unfortunately they were once more dumped into the ‘care’ or Mr Roberts. Despite this misfortune, Tommy made it just in time (another rarity), glancing pointedly at the clock as he entered the classroom. The teacher’s eyes went straight to Tommy’s feet, dropping the cane back onto his desk with a clunk as he saw the shoes. They were a state, and practically falling apart by now seeing as they were thirty years old, but they still counted. Tommy resisted the urge to click his worn down heels together, and walked to his desk with a smile, revelling in Billy’s disappointed gaze as he sat down unscathed.

At lunch, he, Danny and Freddie were accidentally given two portions of the school meal, which two of them wolfed down quickly in case anyone realised. Although the food was…questionable at best, Freddie was groaning about how good it felt to be full the whole afternoon, which Tommy found rather distracting. Instead of eating his own extra meal, he split it between John and Ada, and the looks on their faces made his day.

It was PE in the afternoon, which consisted of two hours of Tommy and Billy lobbing cricket balls at each other with way more force than necessary. Tommy also managed to catch him out a few times, which would probably come back to bite him later, but for now was very satisfying.

By far the best part of the day was when Freddie slipped a little daisy chain around his wrist, tying the ends together with a smile. By the end of the day, the flowers were crumpled, but Tommy had worn it home all the same, every petal a reminder of Freddie’s fingers brushing his skin.

 

Meanwhile, across Small Heath the bell chimed 4pm, and Arthur Jnr unbuckled his tool belt, letting it drop with a thud to the ground as he finished work. He wiped a hand over his grimy forehead, shoving his hammer and nails to the side for the following day. Charlie called after him as he left the yard, something about dinner, but Arthur only gave a hasty backwards wave before running down the lane. He had things to do today.

Arthur had always been popular at school; always had lots of friends to play with, or more recently, people to drink and smoke with. In his year, he was pretty much the top dog. That didn’t include the years above, however. The unofficial ‘leaders’ of Small Heath would be Joe and Lawrence, two brothers a couple of years older than him. He’d kissed their sister Miriam in the corner of the yard at school when he was fourteen, and had a fight with their younger brother as a consequence. Therefore, Arthur was rather apprehensive when the older two cornered him on the street one afternoon, half expecting a swift punch to the gut for his troubles.

Turned out, they _liked_ him. They’d heard about his stealing, and wanted him to join them in a robbery, or something similar. Arthur had been over the moon; these guys were almost notorious in Small Heath, and word had it that they’d been arrested several times each. And they’d wanted _him_ , Arthur Shelby, to help them. He was moving up in the world.

Today was the day, and he met the pair on the corner of South Street. They were smoking, peaked caps worn at an angle as they leant on the wall. God, he couldn’t believe they wanted to hang out with him. School had just ended, and streets were bustling with kids, Arthur even catching a glimpse of Tommy and his friends disappearing into Freddie’s house.

Though a small part of him wanted Tommy to watch whatever daring heist they were about to pull off, it was probably best not to have his kid brother in tow. He wanted to look menacing, and Tommy swinging off his arm wouldn’t help that image. 

“Well look who it is” said Joe by way of greeting. He glanced at his brother, and they snickered. Arthur smiled back, before attempting to school his features into something more intimidating.

“Come on” said Lawrence, flicking his cigarette butt onto the street. “We’ve got money to make”.

“What are we doing?” asked Arthur eagerly, quickening his steps to keep up with the older boys.

“Finding a target” said Lawrence, scanning the crowd.

“What about the market?” Arthur asked. That’s where he always stole from. It was so crowded, that even if the stall owners spotted him grab the cash box or some food, by the time they’d wrestled their way out from behind the table, Arthur was long gone. Joe scoffed.

“Too easy. We thought you were up to more than that”. Arthur’s cheeks reddened, but he nodded in agreement.

“I am. It was just a idea, to get us warmed up, you know”. Lawrence shook his head, and Arthur frowned. He _had_ to prove himself to them. Imagine the look on his friends faces when he told them about this.

“Perfect” said Joe, holding out a hand to stop the others. A car had pulled up to the curb, a new, posh, beautiful black car, clearly from out of town. Arthur gaped at it. It even had glass windows. The driver got out, setting something down onto the seat and locking the door, before hurrying off down the lane. He clearly didn’t want to stay in a dump like Small Heath any longer than necessary.

“Who would leave something like _that_ unattended?” he asked, looking from the car to the man’s retreating back. His suit was fine, probably tailor made, and his shoes were shiny and black.

“Someone with a lot of money” said Joe, as they made their way across the street. It was mostly empty now, only a few retreating school kids and an old man to be seen.

“What are we gonna do?”.

“You’re asking too many questions boy” cut in Lawrence. “You’ve got to use yer brain if you want to be one of us”.

“So. What are we gonna do?” said Joe, directing Arthur’s own words at him. Arthur swallowed.

“We’re gonna frisk him”.

“I already thought of a plan” said Lawrence. “Me n’ Joe are gonna shake him down, see what he’s got, and you slash the tires and wait there. If we’re not back in two minutes, smash the window, take what he has”.

“If we ain’t back, we’ve probably got nothing, or a copper’s onto us, so you better make sure you do as we say”. Arthur nodded eagerly, amazed they were trusting him with such an important job, before seeing a slight problem.

“I don’t have a watch”.

“He’s left one on the seat, idiot” said Joe, pointing. “Now cut the tires”. Arthur laughed it off, inwardly cursing himself for not realising. He did as he was told with his pocketknife, while the boys blocked him from view. It was harder work than he thought it would be, and by the time he pierced all four wheels his wrist was aching. Once he was done, Arthur watched as the brothers jogged down the street and disappeared around the corner, laughing to themselves. He felt a bit conspicuous, so he dropped the rock near the wheel and stepped back a few paces. He could still make out the second hand, and watched the minutes ticking by.

Joe and Lawrence didn’t come back. Arthur couldn’t hear any signs of a struggle, and the few people that passed went about their day as usual, only stopping to admire the car for a moment before carrying on.

_Tick, tick, tick._

Shit, okay. Two minutes. Grabbing the rock, Arthur ran back a few paces and lobbed it at the car, shattering the window. There were several shouts of surprise at the loud smash, and Arthur reached into the car quickly, grabbing the watch and briefcase left on the seat. It felt rather light, and he cursed. There better be some damn money in there. The cries were getting louder, and he heard heavy footfalls approaching. Ducking out of the window hastily, his arm caught on the broken glass, ripping through his jacket and making Arthur cry out. Expecting to see Joe and Lawrence, he was instead greeted by two policemen, red faced and pumping their arms in an effort to reach him in time. Fuck.

He ditched the rock and ran down the nearest side street, holding the briefcase close to his chest. The watch must have slipped from his grip at some point, but policemen were easy to outrun, so he could at least share the cash with the others. That was still a success, right? Most coppers round here were getting on a bit, and Arthur had the advantage of speed, agility, and knowing where the best hiding places were from years of playing out with Tommy.

Swerving round an elderly lady who thwacked at him with her handbag, Arthur rounded the corner, running straight into a policeman on duty. He fell to the floor, but scrambled up quickly, eyes wide, and shifted the briefcase behind his back.

“Oi” the policeman cried. He was younger, and bigger than the others. Shit. “You wanna watch where you’re going boy”.

“Sorry sir” said Arthur hastily. He didn’t suspect anything, did he? He needed to move fast, the others would catch him up soon. The man paused, taking in Arthur’s panting, recognition flickering in his eyes.

“Wot’ you running so fast for anyway?”. A whistle sounded, and Arthur caught sight of the other men at the end of the alley, waving their arms.

“Stop!”.

“Grab that boy!”.

The man made a grab for Arthur, catching him by his shirt collar and yanking him backwards. He almost fell, and the man used his advantage to twist Arthur’s arm painfully, forcing him to drop the briefcase. Arthur stamped down hard on the man’s foot, and he growled, kicking back at Arthur’s ankles even as his grip on his arms slackened.

Arthur twisted in the policeman’s weak grip, shaking himself loose for a moment and catching one breath of freedom before four more hands grabbed him, reaching for his arms. Arthur kicked out behind him, and one of them relinquished their hold, cursing as he stumbled back. The others had grown wise to the trick, and someone hooked a leg round Arthur’s own to stop him kicking, almost tripping him up. The split second it took for the officer to wrestle with the handcuffs was enough for Arthur to drop down to regain his balance, digging an elbow into the man’s groin. Groaning in pain, the policeman curled into himself, and Arthur only had one more to push off before there was a sharp pain in the back of his skull, and everything went dark.

Voices came back before his vision cleared. They faded in, sometimes loud and painfully close, but then left again, leaving Arthur trapped in the murky swirls of darkness. He opened his eyes, squeezing them shut again instinctively against the bright artificial light.

“He’s one of them Shelby boys” someone was saying. “Always nicking stuff. Got bloody hundreds of complaints against em”.

“So it’s vandalism, n’ attempted theft?”.

“And evading arrest”.

“He’s bleeding pretty bad, he goin’ to the nurse?”

“No” someone said, much closer to him now. Two men grabbed his arms, hauling him upright, Arthur crying out at the pain in his arm.

“He’s got blood all over the fuckin’ seats”, someone complained bitterly.

“No nurse” the man insisted. “This one’s been running me ragged for months, he can wait. He’s going downstairs”. Arthur bit down on his tongue, trying to distract himself from the pain in his arm. There was only one officer holding him now, and his arms ached where they were handcuffed tightly behind his back.

“Where are you taking me?” he demanded, a long flight of stairs looming below him. His voice came out higher than usual, and he cleared his throat quickly. “How long will I be here? When do I get to go home?”. The policeman didn’t answer, and Arthur clenched his teeth, frustrated. He must be going to a holding cell, whilst they worked out what to do with him. They could only keep him a day or two, right?

 

They came to a dingy beige corridor at the bottom of the stairs. Arthur caught glimpses of faces, some hands reaching out through the bars towards them as yelling, wailing sounds echoed along the corridor. They passed another guard, who paused, pointing at Arthur.

“That a Shelby boy you got there Marcus?”.

“Sure is, Frank” he said conversationally. As if Arthur wasn’t hanging off his arms, and there wasn’t a prisoner with a bloody gash on his forehead gazing blankly at them from the cell behind.

“Blimey. How’d you get him? I almost got the little one red handed the other day, but the bastard disappeared”. He’d taught John well, Arthur thought, still slightly smug about the situation despite the incessant throbbing in his head, and the disturbing amount of bloodstains on the paintwork.

“Couple of boys told us ‘e was robbing a car, pointed us the right way”. Arthur sagged, loosing his footing, horrified to feel sharp tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It couldn’t have been Joe and Lawrence could it? They were his friends…weren’t they?

“Put him in 8F” said Frank. “Couple of gang kids in that one, teach him a lesson most likely”.  Arthur wasn’t sure about this anymore. Being arrested was seen as a rite of passage in Small Heath. Of course it was preferable to never be caught, but unless you’d been on the inside and come out victorious you had no chance of any respect from a gang. They’d see you as weak, and Arthur felt it, in that moment, with the pain, hunger and sadness piled on top of him. Joe and Lawrence had never wanted to be his friends, but instead of that punch to the gut they’d landed him in something much worse.

The cell he was thrown into was shadowy, the little light creeping in through the small window near the ceiling most obscured by winding ivy and dirt. Three older boys were lounging on mattresses on the floor, and Arthur was just about to ask where his bedding was, when the gate was pulled closed behind him, and locked. He rushed to the door, fingers just brushing the guard’s sleeve through the bars, but stepped back when he hit the bars with his truncheon, aiming for Arthur’s fingers.

The clang faded, and turning around, Arthur found the other boys closing in behind him. They looked around seventeen, and were all a head taller than him, scars covering their arms and the edges of shoddy stick and poke tattoos peeking out from their vests.

“First time?” one of them asked. It may just have been desperation, but Arthur took the voice and question as friendly, despite the boy’s face remaining void of expression. Maybe prison would be okay, if he had some friends looking out for him.

“Yes” he managed, taking a step forwards. It would be his last pain free movement of the night. It was a couple of hours later by the time the boys had got bored of him. They’d been in there a while, taking out their frustration on each other and the bars, making strips of their dirty sheets into cords and wrapping them around their hands. Arthur realised what was coming pretty quickly, and managed to get a couple of hits in before the onslaught truly started.

The smallest boy had hesitated at first, and Arthur could almost see the cogs turning in his mind; _if it’s not him, it would be me_ , until Arthur couldn’t see at all, his eye bruised and swollen from the punches.

Why had he admitted it was his first time in prison? He was so stupid. You should never show weakness, that’s what his dad always said. What would he think of him now? Arthur was supposed to look out for everyone, but instead he was here, cowering in the corner. His father was right. He wasn’t a good brother, wasn’t a good son.

A guard noticed him eventually, when they came round in the evening to push some stale bread through the bars of the cells. He had collapsed next to the door, pale battered face pressed against the cold floor, his blood leaking out into the corridor. He spent the next two nights in a small room serving as the hospital, which was almost worse than staying in the cell. Arthur was fine with blood, and boxing injuries, but some of the men in there…they were missing _eyes_.

It made him feel sick thinking about what could happen if you showed weakness in here. He’d been lucky, by comparison.

A memory he’d tried very hard to suppress rose to the forefront of his mind. His father, pressing a blunt pocket knife into his little brother’s cheek, the point of the blade just brushing his wet eyelashes. He hadn’t been drunk, and though he truly loved his father Arthur would be lying if he wasn’t terrified of him in that moment. He hadn’t hurt Tommy then, not physically anyway, but seeing men here with those slicing wounds make Arthur’s stomach churn.

Here, you had to suffer those wounds or inflict them yourself. He wouldn’t forget that next time.

 

A few days ago he’d have been emotional about release, running home as quickly as possible and pulling his brothers and sister into the tightest hug. But he was almost numb when the time came. A guard pulled him along by his upper arm, and gave him a prod once they were out on the street, Arthur not quite realising he was free to go.

He wasn’t technically free, the weight of a fine that would bankrupt his family resting on his shoulders. They’d be on the fucking streets if he couldn’t pay this. _When_ he couldn’t pay this. There was only six months to pay it all, before the debt increased. He could have screamed, it was all so unfair.

His dad’s voice played in his head: _you’re the one that got caught. You fell for their scam._

He thought of how hard his parents had worked for the house. His mother, with no shelter, no medicine. His siblings, leaning cold and dirty and hungry against a stone wall as people walked by, uncaring. Ada was barely five. He had to get this money. Whatever it took.

He was exhausted, his face was still slightly swollen, with dark bruises around his eyes and a viciously split lip. Ducking his head to hide his face, he turned the corner to Watery Lane, reaching his house. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer, and he couldn’t see any movement behind the net curtains. The kids were likely at school, or bunking off somewhere, and Pol would have a shift at the office. A good thing, he decided, as although he desperately wanted to see his family he couldn’t look them in the eye with what he’d just done to their futures. It was all life and death out here.

He felt around for his key, but there was nothing in his pockets. It must have fallen out. Or been stolen. A quick glance up and down the street told him there was no one around, and he jumped up, grabbing hold of the drain pipe and climbing up like he’d done a hundred times before. It was hard to see, with his eye swollen up, and he almost let go when his elbow scraped against the brick, stinging horribly.

Tommy wasn’t there to open the window for him, and Arthur almost lost his grip on the pipe a second time attempting to do it one handed, but luckily it hadn’t been closed that morning, meaning Polly was definitely away. He clambered inside, grazing his ankle nastily on the brickwork, and tumbled into his room, groaning in pain. He dragged himself up, finally lying down on his bed.

Florence, who had been dozing on Tommy’s bed, jumped the short distance onto the covers beside him, as if demanding to know where he’d been. Arthur reached out to stroke her, but stopped, his hand covered in grime and dried blood. He wiped them on his trousers, with minimal success, but by then Florence had nosed her head into his palm anyway. She was meticulous in washing herself though, so he knew she’d be fine.

He wasn’t sure when he started crying, but he didn’t stop for a long time, only shifting when a tear plopped down onto Florence’s head. He sniffed, wiping at the damp spot with his thumb. She arranged herself comfortably in his lap, paws resting on his forearms, and nose twitching in the crook of his sore elbow.

 

Tommy came home a few hours later, flopping onto his bed and throwing Arthur a few taffies he’d stolen from after school from the corner shop. They hit his shoulder, dropping down to the bed.

“Where the hell have you been?” he said, kicking off his shoes. Arthur winced slightly as they hit the wall, thudding to the floor. Polly was always telling him to take better care of them, and Arthur couldn’t bear the thought of his brother going around in bare feet again. _You’ve just sentenced him to a short life on the streets_. Shoes were a luxury.

“You should have been here yesterday, there was the best argument. Ada punched a boy at school, and Mama went mad. Apparently he was saying girls shouldn’t go to school or something, and Ada flipped, gave him a nose bleed n’ everything! Pol said she should find some other way to get back at him, boring stuff like doing better in class, but Mama was shouting about how she’s turning into you” he laughed, turning to look at his brother. At Arthur’s silence, and lack of movement, Tommy sat up again.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?”. Arthur couldn’t bear it. Yet again, Tommy was the one trying to look out for him. He should have asked him how he was instead, he seemed off lately.

“Did you break up with…Charlotte?” he tried, cringing as he used what he was certain was the wrong name.

“No, Tom” said Arthur, finally raising his head. Tommy gasped, mouth dropping open as he saw Arthur’s injuries.

“Was it dad?” he asked sadly.

“No”.

“Who then? Where have you been this whole time?”

“I got arrested” he said quietly. There was no point in hiding it, he’d find out sooner or later. Especially with that fine demand burning a hole in his pocket.

“No way, really?” he asked excitedly, his brother’s injuries transforming from worrying to impressive in a second. “What did you do? How did they catch you? You have to tell me everything!” he said, jumping over to Arthur’s bed and crossing his legs on the covers. Arthur hadn’t heard him this excited in months.

“It’s not a good place, Tommy” he tried. His brother rolled his eyes.

“I already know _that_ ”. There was a pause, and Tommy pouted. “Please Arthur! Who did you go with?”

“Joe n’ Lawrence Gibbs”

“What?” Tommy squeaked. “Really? That’s amazing!”

“No Tommy, I aleady told you-”

“Can I come with you next time? Can I? Please Arthur?”.

“ _No_ ” he said, louder. Florence hopped out of his arms, returning to her usual spot on Tommy’s blanket. Arthur missed the warmth.

“What did you do?” Tommy begged again, changing tactics.

“I stole from a car. Smashed it’s window”.

“Wow” his brother said, in awe. Arthur felt a pang of sadness.

“What did you steal?”

“A briefcase”.

“Woah…was it full of money? Or jewels?”.

“Jewels, in Small Heath? Come off it”.

“Sorry, sorry” said Tommy, almost tripping over his words in his eagerness. “Was it money then?”

“I don’t know”.

“Oh…why not?”

“Never got that far, did I”. Arthur fell silent. Tommy seemed to sense the change in him, and regarded him for a moment before pulling him into a hug.

“Don’t be sad” he said in Romani. Arthur gave him a small smile. Romani was usually reserved for important family gatherings, but Arthur and Tommy used to use it at school. A language just for them.

“You’ve been sad too” said Arthur. Tommy shook his head. “Don’t lie. I know you get up at night”.

“I’m fine” he insisted, before a worried look crossed his face, and he pulled away. “Did a prisoner hurt you?”. He’d been admiring the injuries whilst imagining the other party much worse off, but his brother’s face was red and puffy from more than just bruising. Arthur nodded before he could stop himself. Fuck. He was so weak. “Who?”.

“Doesn’t matter” he said. “It won’t happen again”.

 

After a few weeks, the excitement surrounding Arthur’s nights in prison had worn off, and Tommy was back to his mood swings. Laughing one moment, and storming off in the next. Polly could always tell when Tommy was lying, and he’d been reeling off a dozen a day at the moment judging by the tension between them.

“I just want to help you!” she’d screamed at him one evening, Tommy staring blankly back at her before heading up to bed without a word. He’d spend whole days in the stables, which was nothing new, but sometimes Arthur would catch him just sitting there, staring into space. He was only twelve, what was there to think about? Arthur himself was up every night, drinking and fighting his way into oblivion to forget the fine. Not that it was enough to.

Arthur had a theory though, about Tommy. And it wasn’t one he liked. It was just little things at first, tiny hints. Arthur knew he was fairly oblivious at the best of times, but the signs had mounted and mounted until he was actively watching for them.

It was the way Tommy still seemed oblivious to pretty girls on the street. The way he grew embarrassed at the boxing ring, not wanting to take off his shirt in front of other boys. The way he stayed silent, not a hint of jealousy on his face as Arthur recounted stories of past girlfriends. Even John was jealous, and he was only seven.

A bigger warning sign was when he’d found a shrivelled old circle of daisies pressed into the back of his sketchbook. He’d been angry at first, he only got one every few years, and each page was precious, but then he’d read little messages in Tommy’s crooked writing, and became confused. His perplexity deepened as he saw the little hearts his brother had drawn, incasing two sets of initials.

_FT TS_

After staring at it for a while, trying to make sense of the thing, he’d ripped out the page and thrown it away, should anyone else see it. Had Tommy really thought Arthur himself wouldn’t notice? He was just young, Arthur reassured himself. Kids did stuff like that with their friends. He’d hoped that Tommy would grow out of it, but his strange behaviour continued. The sleeptalking, for instance. In the warm weather Tommy snuck out to the pasture more often than not these days, but this had been happening for a few months now. Freddie’s name, fragments of sentences that left Arthur lying awake staring at the ceiling and just _wondering_.

 

With his curiousity and worry increasing, Arthur followed his brother one afternoon, when he’d slunk off to the stables alone. He was always doing things alone these days. He didn’t seem bothered by Arthur’s company however, and they busied themselves for an hour or two by brushing down the horses and breaking up the haystacks. Tommy glanced around for any sign of Polly, before slipping Rockferry, a beautiful white horse, an apple he’d stolen from the kitchen, stroking through his mane as he crunched it up.

Jack, the stablehand, joined them a while later, and Tommy spent the rest of the afternoon on his tiptoes, sneaking glances at him over Rockferry’s back. Jack was tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair and a kind smile. He always chattered away to them as they worked, grateful for their help, and while Tommy wasn’t usually a shy kid he often turned red at the praise, using a horse, or a large tool to hide behind. It was weird, they’d known Jack for years, Tommy shouldn’t be this shy around him.

 _He had to ask him,_ Arthur reminded himself _._ Check he wasn’t becoming one of those men; the ones their dad had warned them about. This was his chance to be a good brother.

 

“Tom?” said Arthur, cautiously, watching his brother as he stared at Jack’s retreating back. He wasn’t quite sure how to approach this subject, so he figured asking some direct questions was the best plan. Tommy looked round at him guiltily, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Yep, definitely acting suspicious.

“Do you have a girl?”. Tommy looked at him in surprise, before shaking his head. Turning away again, he began shovelling hay with his fork forcefully, working himself harder than before. “You’re almost a teenager, isn’t there any girl you like?” Arthur pushed. “That Greta maybe?”.

“Leave it, Arthur” he muttered. Arthur did no such thing.

“What about boys?” said Arthur, watching Tommy closely for his reaction. He froze for a moment, before continuing his work. “Tommy?”.

“I said leave it”. Arthur tossed down his fork and stalked across the stables to Tommy. He was trying to help him, damn it.

“I’ve seen you” he said. Tommy stopped moving.

“What do you mean?”.

“Looking”.

“I have eyes, don’t I?” he said sarcastically, hanging his fork from the hook on the wall and brushing the hay off his clothing.

“It’s the way you stare” said Arthur, “and how you are with Freddie sometimes. It’s weird. I found that page in my sketchbook, too”. Tommy tried to force a laugh, but only a small choking sound came out.

_He knows, he knows, he knows._

How could he have been so stupid?

“I don’t know what you mean” he said, heart pounding in his chest.

“Yes you do” insisted Arthur. “You can tell me Tommy, it’s okay. I can help”.

“There’s nothing to tell” Tommy insisted, kicking at a bit of hay. He dug his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunching up as he shifted.

“You like Freddie, don’t you? You don’t like girls at all, you like boys”.

“Arthur, leave me alone!” Tommy shouted, turning towards the exit. He felt sick, he couldn’t believe this had happened. He thought he’d been so careful. _He had to get away._

His escape route was cut off as he slammed into a figure in the doorway, stumbling backwards, horrified to find his _father_ staring down at him. Arthur Snr grabbed Tommy by the collar, wrenching him up and turning to shove him against the wall. Tommy smacked his head, and he brought a hand up instinctively to shield himself. Arthur pulled it away, squeezing his wrist painfully.

“Now that’s not true, is it boy?” Arthur said, placing his other hand on the wall between Tommy and the exit. He was too close, right in his face, and the air was stifling as he struggled to take a breath. Tommy swallowed, his throat dry, shaking his head. “Because if it is”, his father leaned in, Tommy cringing away, “I’ll cut your throat, and bleed you out all over this floor”.

He let the words hang for a second, before he pushed himself away from the wall and grabbed a bale, leaving the stables without a backwards glance. Rockferry whinnied. Arthur Jnr swallowed, hovering by the doorway. He’d seen his father a second before Tommy, but it was too late to take back his words. Too late to stop his father’s eyes sharpening and fixing on Tommy like a hawk. He’d just wanted Tommy to confide in him, to be a good big brother. Instead, he’d ruined everything.

Tommy peeled himself away from the wall shakily, eyes dark.

“Tommy, I’m sor-”. Arthur’s apology was cut off, as Tommy shoved past him and out of the stables, breaking into a run as he rounded the bend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts :)
> 
> I hope I haven't made anyone dislike Arthur (Jnr) in this. He has good intentions, and wants to fix his mistakes, their fuckup of a dad has just put the wrong ideas in his head. Much more on this subject to come! I can reassure everyone that he is definitely NOT going to follow in his dad's footsteps on this front. 
> 
> xx


	5. 1903

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Freddie are up to no good, Polly’s got trouble in paradise and Arthur’s still muddling through his role as a big brother.

The glass shattered on the wall where her head had been a moment before, and Polly stumbled as she ducked out of the way of a second.

“You’re so fucking selfish” Eddie spat, aiming a kick at the desk and toppling a lamp, which smashed loudly against the floorboards.

“Me? Me selfish?” she shouted back. “I’m not the one who pissed away all our savings, _everything_ we’ve worked for, on some drunken gamble!”.

“There are things you don’t know, Polly. You don’t know what I’ve done for this family, you only think about yourself”.

“Done? You’ve done nothing but _ruin us_ ” she screamed. Their voices died away, replaced by their heavy breathing and the crunch of glass under Eddie’s feet as he paced. Polly rubbed a hand over her forehead, and then through her hair, unable to help tugging at the strands in frustration.

“Get out” she said eventually, so quiet she wasn’t sure if he’d heard it. The door slammed violently, and Polly sank to the floor, glass tearing at the fragile material of her tights as she began to cry.

\--

Tommy kicked repeatedly at the back of Peter’s chair. The boy swivelled around a few times in protest, but at Tommy’s glare he turned back to face the front. Resting his chin on his arms, Tommy blew at a bit of paper on his desk, the blackboard slowly filling up with numbers in his peripheral vision.

School was so incredibly boring. Especially now he’d been moved away from his friends. Stupid to split them up really, Tommy thought, as his attention drifted to the back of Freddie’s head. He’d spent even less time concentrating on the blackboard now that Freddie was directly in his eye line.

Not that there was much to concentrate on anyway. These calculations wouldn’t get him anywhere. Still, he only had to suffer through one more year of school. Then he’d get a job working in Charlie’s yard like Arthur, and hammer nails and chop wood until he was too old to lift an axe. From there, he’d spend twenty-three hours a day in bed, like his granddad, reading the newspaper and complaining about his back while his children grew up and got on with their lives.

Then he’d die, laid to rest in a faded wagon in an unremarkable field. His wife would dab her tears away, and then he’d be gone, and once his own children had died there would be no one left to remember him. That was it.

He wondered what had happened to those two men. The ones he’d seen in the alley when he was eight or nine, and his father had chased away, drunkenly shouting about Leviticus and Romans and sin. He was the biggest sinner Tommy knew of. If God was real, which Tommy had decided pretty early on that he wasn’t, he surely he wouldn’t approve of most of his father’s activities.

Why were some sins such as drunkenness, or adultery committed every day in Small Heath without anyone batting an eyelid, but others meant you were destined for the fiery flames of hell? God was too complicated, and he never provided any answers, so Tommy didn’t see the point. He still trogged along to church every so often, if only to keep Polly off his back (and spend the time staring at one of the choir singers), but he didn’t feel any connection to the religion he’d been raised in. Maybe there was something out there he could believe in, but he certainly hadn’t found it yet.

He revisited the vision of his life, but this time, he swapped his job in Charlie’s yard for working with horses. He could train them up for the tracks, or go to the Epsom Derby and ride a winning horse himself. He swapped his gloomy retirement for a house in the country, with rolling hills rather than a smoggy city view and plenty of trees for his children to climb. He’d have huge stables, just for him, and spend the days riding and smoking and laughing.

Then, the delicate features of his imaginary wife transformed into something more masculine, something more _Freddie_ , and he sighed, putting the brakes on his train of thought. He couldn’t get into that. Or any of the other ‘what ifs’ of the world. That was his lot. Your life was all planned out in Small Heath, and living in a make believe land didn’t buy bread or milk. That’s what Pol told him anyway.

Looking at his father, Tommy could understand her thinking, but surely there was a way to get something _more_ from life?

More importantly, he still hadn’t had that growth spurt. Arthur was still over a head taller than him. It was embarrassing really. Freddie and Danny now had a few inches on him too, and didn’t let him forget it.

Tommy was jolted from his thoughts by Roberts’ cane smacking down on the desk sharply in dismissal. Shoving his books into his bag, he caught up with his friends outside the classroom, smiling as Freddie wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Wanna do something new today?” Freddie asked, leading Tommy away from the others and into the yard. He had a knowing glint in his eyes, and Tommy’s interest piqued.

“What?”.

“All the workers from those factories down by the Cut have gone on strike” he said. “Me dad told me yesterday”. Tommy grinned.

“Empty factories?”.

“ _Lots_ of empty factories. Let’s ditch the bags and head down there tonight?”. Tommy groaned.

“Can’t we go now?”.

“It’s still light, we could get caught” said Freddie. “I’m in enough trouble as it is”.

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Tommy laughed. “C’mon. You can’t go telling me about empty factories and then expect me to wait”. Freddie wavered for a minute, before rolling his eyes.

“Fine” he agreed. “But if me mum kills me, it’s your fault”.

The alleyways were bustling, but Tommy and Freddie managed to blend in with the crowd. They were just a couple of school kids walking home, not up to anything they shouldn’t be, or causing any trouble.

“What do you think’s gonna be in there?” Freddie speculated as the crowd thinned and they neared the river.

“Tools?”.

“We could make something”.

“Weapons!”. An old man shuffling past them lowered his spectacles, grumbling in disapproval at Tommy’s loud exclamation. The boys burst into laughter, picking up speed and running the rest of the way. A high wall blocked the factories from view, the familiar smoke that twisted upwards now gone from the sky.

Although they decided it would be safer to go over the wall, as coppers often walked the direct routes across the bridges, Tommy couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive at the height. He was used to horses of course, but falling onto the grass in the pasture and plummeting down onto concrete were rather different things. Luckily, Freddie took charge of the situation. 

“Boost me up” he whispered, bracing himself on Tommy’s shoulders as his feet were pushed into the air. Freddie managed to grab hold of the wall, and peered over the top, giving the all clear. Tommy pushed harder, just managing to raise his friend high enough for him to clamber onto the wall.

He wiped his hands on his trousers, dirty from Freddie’s shoes, squinting up at him in the fading sun. A gentle breeze ran through his dark hair, and framed by the oranges of the sky he almost looked unreal. Like a conjuring from Tommy’s daydreams. Though the shadow from the wall hid his blush pretty well, Freddie grinned confusedly at the expression of open joy on Tommy’s face. He must really want those weapons.

Freddie reached down, holding out a hand. Resisting the urge to just…take it, Tommy backed up a few paces, taking a running start at the wall and managing to grab onto Freddie’s forearm. Tommy’s tattered shoes scraped against the rough brick as he scrambled for purchase, and a stab of fear shot through his gut; if they fell apart he’d have nothing again. Freddie let out a pained groan as he tried to hoist Tommy up, wobbling in his precarious position as Tommy lodged a leg over the wall.

They got their breath back, resting for a moment as Tommy examined his shoes. Not too bad. The sole hadn’t come off yet anyway. Freddie pulled at his collar, a button popping loose. They watched its descent warily, realising they’d be making the same journey. The ground was further away on this side of the wall, and Tommy swallowed. 

“How are we going to get back up?” Freddie asked, looking uncertain for the first time. Tommy opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent, a nearby movement catching his eye from their vantage point. A policeman, conversing with another man, a cap obscuring his features from view. Ducking instinctively, Freddie shoved at Tommy’s arm when he made no move to drop to the ground.

“Quick” he hissed, shuffling to the edge, half falling and half sliding down the wall and hitting the concrete hard. His elbows stung, and his palms pricked with blood from the sharp stones he’d fallen on, but he managed to swallow his curse. Tommy still hadn’t moved.

If he could reach his ankle, dangling over the edge, Freddie would be pulling at it. Tommy wasn’t exactly hidden up there, and with all the trouble they got into these days, catching a Shelby stuck where he shouldn’t be would probably earn the man a promotion.

“That’s my-” Tommy started, glancing down at Freddie for only a moment before looking back, face wrinkling in confusion.

“Tommy” Freddie said, voice rising. He stayed up there a moment longer, before pulling his other leg over and jumping. Freddie reached for him instinctively, breaking his fall and leaving them both in a heap on the ground.

“What was going on up there?” Freddie demanded, brushing himself down. “We could’ve got caught”.

“That was my Aunt’s boyfriend”.

“Eddie? What was he doing with a copper?”

“I don’t know” Tommy said grudgingly, “but I’m going to find out”.

\--

The factory was dark without the usual blazing fires. It was dimly lit by a few grubby windows, but otherwise gloomy and deserted. Great shapes of machinery loomed at them from the darkness, the faint outlines of workbenches and equipment scattered about.

“Look at this stuff” said Freddie, skimming his hand over some metal tools. They clanged together half-heartedly, but still echoed in the large space. There were welding tools, nuts, bolts, wrenches, hammers and all manner of other things Tommy didn’t know the names of. Squinting at something in the dark, he picked it up, grinning as the familiar dull glow of a blade in weak light came into view.

“It’s a bit dark to make anything, don’t you think?” said Freddie. Tommy nodded in agreement; before realising that Freddie probably couldn’t see him.

“We could take some things back” he suggested, “we’ve still got our bags”.

“Next time Roberts goes to look for your homework he’d get a shock” laughed Freddie, holding up a few blades. They continued wandering through the factory, Tommy almost tripping over a low bench, and Freddie smacking his head on a piece of machinery. 

“Shh” said Tommy suddenly, holding out an arm. Freddie paused for a second, before growing impatient.

“What? There’s no one-” he was cut off by the creak of a hinge, as the door at the far end of the factory opened. Tommy and Freddie ducked down behind the worktables. They heard muffled voices, and footsteps treading carefully after the initial echo. Couldn’t be anyone who was supposed to be here. A gang? Freddie shot him a worried look, and Tommy pointed to the dark shape of a tall row of shelves near the wall. They could hide there, and spy on the others if they came close enough.

Tommy began to shuffle forward, grit and dirt sticking to the palms of his hands as he crawled. The footsteps were getting louder. Freddie followed, his heard pattering in his chest. This was fun, and exciting, right? It would make a great story afterwards…if they lived to tell the tale. It was even darker here, and the footsteps had stopped. Freddie didn’t notice at first, not until he’d crawled straight into Tommy, who had also stopped dead, letting out a gasp of surprise as Freddie collided with him.

Whispers surrounded them. They sounded close, but it was so hard to tell.

So…close…

Someone gripped Tommy by the collar, yanking him upright.

“What the fuck are you-” they yelled, but the voice fell silent as his own brother appeared from the shadows. “Tommy?”

“Arthur?”. Arthur dropped him, and Tommy rearranged his shirt. Arthur had started wearing his collar up, as had all the older kids in Small Heath, so Tommy had naturally started copying him. Arthur tugged it back down again. “You look ridiculous” he said, and Tommy looked away. “What are you doing here?”.

“Jus’ exploring”.

“Exploring, ey? Shouldn’t you be at school?”.

“It’s finished”.

“And _you_ never went to school” piped up Freddie, emerging from under the table. Arthur cuffed him on the ear, though there was little roughness in the gesture.

“Should’ve know you’d be here too” he said. “Well you can’t play today. We’re busy” he said, gesturing to his friends dotted about the warehouse. There were five others in total, one of whom was jogging over to see what all the yelling was about.

“What is it Arthur?”.

“Nothing” he said quickly, trying to push Tommy away. “Go home” he hissed. Tommy ignored him.

“Busy doing what?”.

“None of your-”

“Making weapons” said one of Arthur’s friends, Richard. “What?” he defended, when Arthur sent a glare his way. “This kid’s pretty tough ain’t he? Didn’t he once slice a guy’s hand open?”

“Of course he’s tough, he’s my brother” said Arthur immediately, Tommy’s chest filling with pride as he spoke.

“Can’t he stay then? We could use another pair of hands”. Arthur’s eyes fell on Freddie. Those two were always sneaking off together these days. It made him nervous, what with all the revelations of the past year. The ones Tommy refused to talk about. Still, it might be good to keep an eye on them for once, get a better grasp of the situation.

Plus, he didn’t like the way Tommy was staring at Richard like he was God’s gift to Small Heath. _He_ was the big brother here.

“Fine” he conceded. “But make yourself useful” he said, grabbing a stray rag from the table and throwing it at Tommy. “Clean all those windows off. Can’t see a bloody thing”.

\--

“Arthur” whined Tommy, despondently flopping the cloth across the window pane. “Let us do something else. We were going to make things too”.

“You ain’t done that one yet” said Richard, pointing to another small window caked in dust. Freddie shot Tommy an unimpressed look.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I suggested it” he whispered. The table was laden with tools and glinting with blades and hooked nails, the boys casting it a longing glance as they trudged to the other window. “I wanted to explore this factory, not clean it”.

“How is this my fault?” Tommy whispered back, smearing the dirt across the glass.

“Because it’s _your_ brother making us do it”.

Twenty minutes later, Tommy and Freddie had graduated from window-cleaning duty and were now allowed near the tools, and between the eight of them all sorts of creations covered the table. Long planks with nails hammered through, roughly sharpened wood, metal clumsily moulded together to make a shanks, and a…square shaped box thing.

“What’s that?” asked Arthur accusingly, pointing a long plank of wood at it.

“A treasure box” said Tommy.

“A treasure box” Arthur repeated.

“Yes. To put things in” he said simply.

“What things are you going to fit in there? It’s much too small”.

“Flowers, buttons, pennies…” began Tommy. Arthur’s friend scoffed.

“Is this the same brother that beat up-”

“Yes, yes” said Arthur, waving him away. Whoever Tommy had beaten up, he was also the same brother that tried to make clothes for horses, and cried when it hadn’t worked. Of course he’d make a treasure box. “Just put it away” said Arthur, turning back to the bench as Tommy opened his satchel and tucked the box inside carefully.

“I like it” Freddie told him, and honestly, that was enough. Tommy had just begun slotting a blade into an abandoned handle he’d found when sound exploded into the factory, echoes bouncing off the walls and surrounding them with shouting and the tinny shriek of whistles.

“Halt! Stay where you are!”.

“Coppers” cursed Arthur, as lamplight flickered across the far walls and the pounding of feet hurried towards them. His friends were scrambling up their creations, some laughing and others shouting back as they headed for the opposite exit.

“You go out that side door” said Arthur, shoving Tommy towards the wall. “We’ll distract them. Test out the new weapons. Go!” he hissed as Tommy hesitated, reluctant to leave his brother. He knew what had happened to him in prison. Tommy lingered for just a moment too long, only avoiding a rough tackle from an officer when Freddie grabbed his hand, _just_ managing to pull him away in time. The policeman went hurling into the table instead, toppling it over and scattering nails as the wood splintered beneath him.

“I _knew_ that copper saw you” said Freddie, keeping Tommy close to his side as they began to run after Arthur.

“Must’ve been a different one” Tommy said, darting round a shelf and neatly dodging a truncheon that smacked against it moments later. He felt slightly giddy, and was pretty sure his heartrate had gone up for more reasons than one. “He was making a deal”.

“A what?” cried Freddie, shoving a bench behind him and bringing the pursuing officer to the ground.

“A deal! With Eddie”. A hand reached out from behind a shelf, and Tommy was yanked to the floor, Arthur’s free hand covering his mouth.

“It’s me. Stay quiet”.

Freddie doubled back hastily, sinking to the ground beside them as they tried to control their breathing. Several coppers ran past them, but other footsteps slowed suspiciously, stopping metres away.

“Where’d the other ones go?”.

“What other ones?”

“Christ almighty”. Tommy peeked through a slit in the wood behind him as the man removed his hat. He was young, or at least; younger than any copper he’d seen today. The other policemen gathered behind him awkwardly, all older, and seemingly none too happy to be berated by a twenty-year-old for losing a few kids. Tommy’s school bag swung from his arm. Shit.

“They could’ve gone out some other way?”

“They’re still _here_. Close the doors and start searching” he ordered. Arthur gestured for the boys to follow, and they crawled along as silently as possible. They came to a gap in the corrugated walling, covered by a few loose planks of wood, and wiggled through cautiously, emerging into a deserted yard on the other side. There were a few faint whistles in the distance, but it looked like a clear run to the wall, if they were fast enough.

“It’s too high this side” whispered Freddie. “We can’t get back up”. Arthur waved a hand to silence him, grabbing Tommy’s wrist and pulling him along at a jog. Though Tommy felt rather like a misbehaving child being dragged away from a sweet shop, he didn’t make a fuss. The wall was unmistakeably taller from this side, but Arthur led them round to a point where the ground was slightly higher. That, and Arthur’s height, was their best chance of escaping.

“Up you go” said Arthur, hands held out ready for Tommy to stand on. Tommy shook his head.

“You go first”.

“What? No”.

“Yes. Come on” insisted Tommy, his own hands held out in a mirroring pose. He still thought about those bruises on his brother’s skin. It wasn’t going to happen again.

“Oh for God’s sake, _I’ll_ go first” said Freddie, breaking the standoff and just managing to grab hold of the wall as Arthur held his arms above his head. He disappeared.

“I’m not going next-” Tommy began, glancing around for fear they’d been caught already.

“Tommy, we’d both be over this wall three times over the time it’s taken you to fuck about. Get up there, _now_ ”. It took several attempts to boost him up, Tommy’s panic growing each time he failed to grab onto the wall. Arthur panted, arms shaking as he pushed Tommy’s feet above his head, finally succeeding. Arthur took a few steps back, preparing to run.

“Tommy wait!” cried Freddie. Tommy grabbed at the wall, trying to stop his fall, a thin coil of barbed wire cutting into his knee. He let go instinctively, falling to the ground hard and letting out a shout of pain.

“Shit, Tommy, I’m sorry-”.

“What happened?” demanded Arthur, narrowly missing the hidden wire himself and dropping down expertly into a crouch.

“I thought someone was coming” explained Freddie, “so I tried to tell him to wait, but…” he trailed off guiltily. Tommy was clutching his knee, the trouser leg ripped and tattered. His back throbbed from where he’d hit the ground, and he could feel the hot flow of blood beneath his fingers.

“We need to get out of here” said Arthur, hauling Tommy to his feet. “Can you walk?”.

The journey home was a slow and painful process. Blood dripped in a steady stream down Tommy’s leg, staining his socks and leaving him lightheaded. Sandwiched between Arthur and Freddie, Tommy attracted more than a few disapproving looks from the neighbours. Though he supposed he was expecting it; there was just no pleasing some people.

What he didn’t expect to see, was Greta Jurossi sat on his doorstep. Freddie straightened up immediately, wiping Tommy’s blood on the back of his trousers and sweeping his fringe across his forehead. While he didn’t let go of Tommy completely, his grip loosened, and Tommy edged closer to his brother.  

She rose, standing by the door as they approached and twisting her hands in her white dress, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. A rare moment of insecurity. She’d shot up in the last few months, all long limbs and dark hair. Her usually bright smile was here replaced with concern.

“What happened?” she asked, staring at the bloodstains on Tommy’s ruined trousers.

“Don’t ask” said Tommy. An awkward silence. “Is…do you want something?”.

“Oh, yes” she said, looking between them. Freddie was playing with his hair again. “My sister’s having a party. It’s big, there’s lots to drink, and loads of people from school are going” she said. “My parents will go spare when they find out about it”.

“So you’re hiding out on our doorstep?” said Arthur.

“I was going to invite you, but…I’ll go” she shifted, starting to turn away but paused. “I hope you feel better Tommy”. Tommy gave her a half smile, a fresh wave of nausea crashing over him.

“Wait” cried Freddie, “I’ll come”. Tommy’s stomach dropped. He’d blame it on his leg, but deep down he’d worked out by now what this really was. What he was feeling.

“You will?” Greta asked. Tommy could tell she was slightly disappointed, but covered it well.

“Course”. Freddie chanced a guilty glance at Tommy, who was now staring resolutely at his feet. “If…if you’re going to be alright Tom-”.

“He’s fine” said Arthur fumbling around for his key. Why could he never find the damn thing? It was about time Tommy got his own cut, but his night time wanderings didn’t need any assistance. By the time Arthur unlocked the door, Freddie and Greta were long out of sight. Tommy reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the wall they’d disappeared behind, hobbling into the house.

“Hello?” Arthur called. No answer. A peek through the kitchen window showed Polly and John out in their small garden.

“Ada?” he called.

“What?” she shouted down to him. Good. Just checking. He directed Tommy towards the stairs hastily.

“Arthur, I don’t need any help” Tommy insisted, promptly tripping as he tried to hop up the stairs. It was hard to maintain dignity when every jolt had him squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

“For God’s sake don’t let Aunt Pol see this” said Arthur impatiently, scrubbing at a drop of blood with his shoe. “Quickly, before she comes back”.

“I’m doing it” Tommy growled, deciding shuffling up one step at a time would be more effective. Arthur lost any remaining patience, grabbing his infuriatingly stubborn brother and hauling him up the stairs to their room. Setting him on the bed, Arthur grabbed some supplies from the cupboard on the landing.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Tommy asked doubtfully. Arthur looked up at him, offended.

“Of _course_ ”. Tommy gave him his best dubious look. “Went to a first aid class didn’t I?” he elaborated.

“I thought you got thrown out?”. Arthur waved a hand in dismissal.

“They couldn’t teach me nothing new anyway” he said. “I’ve got it all under control”.

Though Arthur would later maintain that statement, the ruined cloth and several mangled attempts at bandages covering the duvet suggested otherwise.

 “Arthur, you’re just making it worse” Tommy sighed. There was indeed blood smeared all over his leg now, and the cuts were stinging painfully.

“No, look there now, all clean”.

“It isn’t” Tommy whined. “It _hurts_ ”.

“Come on Tommy” Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t be a baby, it’s all better”. Tommy only pouted, pulling his leg away. Arthur sighed. “Tommy”.

“Go away”.

“This is my room too, stupid”.

“Then go somewhere else” Tommy insisted, turning around to face the wall. _Bloody hell_ , Arthur thought as he scooped up the cloth, _brothers_. He was only trying to help. Maybe he should just stop bothering, Tommy never appreciated his efforts anyway. He glanced into John and Ada’s room on the way back down the corridor, stopping in the doorway. Ada was lying on her stomach, feet swinging in the air behind her as she fed the carrots they were supposed to be cooking for dinner to her rabbit. She looked up at Arthur’s presence, breaking into a gap toothed smile.

“We’re having a tea party” she announced, taking a bite out of her own carrot.

“A tea party, ey?”. Ada held out a chipped cup, and Arthur sat down, squished uncomfortably in the small space.

“Do you want tea, or whiskey?”. He laughed. She’d clearly been copying Aunt Pol in the kitchen.

“I’ll have some tea”.

“And you can have a carrot or…a cigarette” she decided, pouring Arthur some imaginary liquid.

“I’ll take the carrot” he said, taking the opportunity to steal some away from Florence. “Don’t think she’s s’posed to be eating these ones. These are for us”. Ada shrugged guiltily.

“She always gets the end bits” she complained. “They’re nasty”.

“They’re nasty for a human, but they’re a rabbit’s favourite part”.

“Really?”.

“Really. Nice tea” he said, sipping at his cup. They played for a while, Arthur trying his best to remember her teddies’ names, and listen patiently as Ada counted up to a hundred, getting lost around the seventies and starting again. Still, she was much better than he’d been at numbers. John appeared at the door, clutching a deflated old football.

“Arthur, come and play football with me” he said, miming booting the ball a far distance.

“He’s playing with _me_ ” said Ada.

“But you’ve been playing for ages and ages and-”.

“No we haven’t! And when you play football, you never even get it in the goal”.

“Yes I do!”.

“It always goes over the wall, and then someone takes it”.

“I’m the best goal scorer out of everyone. You can only kick the ball this far” said John, holding up two fingers a centimetre away from each other.

“Okay, okay, enough” tried Arthur, as Ada launched into an explanation of why her football skills were vastly superior to John’s. Soon enough a full blown argument had broken out, Arthur sat in the middle of the chaos clutching his broken tea cup. Pol intervened eventually, proclaiming Arthur couldn’t play with either of them as he had chores to do, and so did they. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t go down too well either. Arthur managed to escape the madness back to his room, where Tommy was still lying on his bed, picking at a bit of ripped wallpaper.

“How’s the knee?” he asked. Tommy shrugged. Must be feeling better then. “Listen Tom, why don’t you go to that party, ey?”.

“Don’t want to”.

“Why not? It’ll be fun. There’ll be lots of drink, and smoking”. Tommy shook his head. Although, it might be good to go _somewhere_. He’d decided not to tell Arthur about Polly writing his name and address inside his backpack after losing one too many. All in all, he’d rather not be around when the coppers inevitably knocked on the door. He had an array of excuses ready, sure, but though she’d defend him tooth and nail in front of the coppers, Polly would see through them all, and the second the door shut there’d be hell to pay.

“Fine” said Tommy pushing himself off the bed. Arthur looked rather surprised, but didn’t say a word lest Tommy change his mind. Though he wasn’t particularly happy that Freddie would be there, some drink and some girls should sort out whatever was going on in that head of his. He ruffled Tommy’s hair as he passed, and his brother gave him a small smile.

Stepping outside, Tommy headed for the stables. He couldn’t get Freddie and Greta out of his mind as it was, there was no way he’d suffer through a whole evening with them both, especially after his earlier embarrassment. _Get used to it_ , a small voice reminded him in the back of his head. _You’ll be best man at his wedding_.

Saddling up Domino, a gentle black horse with a white spot on his nose, he trotted down the lane, gathering speed until he reached the rolling hills of the pasture.

\--

Smacking her lips, Polly smiled at the mirror, eyes fixed on the dark red lipstick Arthur had swiped for her last birthday. She used it sparingly, but tonight was a night for a bit of glamour. Her, a couple of friends, and a reluctant Uncle Charlie in tow so the pubs would serve them. Ridiculous rule, that. Most of them were.

There was a knock at the door, and she checked the time hurriedly, finding it too early for her friends. If Arthur had lost his key, _again_ , so help him God. But it wasn’t Arthur on the other side, and Polly started when she saw Eddie, standing on the doorstep with dishevelled clothing and deep bags under his eyes.

“No” she said, attempting to shut the door. Eddie was faster, wedging his foot into the gap. He made no further move to force his way in, just rested his head against the wood and breathed deeply.

“Polly” he said, voice cracking. He couldn’t see her, but she shook her head anyway.

“Say your piece and sling your hook”.

“Please Pol”.

“Quickly. I’ve got things to do”.

“ _Please_ ” he begged, “just let me explain. I can get the money back, I know I can. I’ve already got three pounds”. Polly’s firm hold on the door weakened in surprise. That was over half of the money he’d blundered away.

“You have?”.

“Yes. I’ve transferred it all to your family’s account, you’re the only one who can touch it”. Polly paused. This all sounded positive, providing she could take the money out before her damned brother found out about it. But there had to be a catch, where had he gotten the money from so fast?

“And where did you get three pounds from at such short notice? When it took us years to save it?”.

“I can’t explain on the doorstep” said Eddie. A pause. Then the door was wrenched open.

“Talk” demanded Polly.

“You look- you’re so beaut-” he started, taking in her curled hair and the rouge on her lips.

“Don’t you dare”.

“Polly…”.

“You think you can just walk in here, throw a few compliments out and then everything will go back to how it was?”.

“No, I-”.

“Do you know how important that money was to me? For the children? For _our_ future?”.

“Yes, Polly listen-”.

“There was a time when we had _nothing_ , Edward. And I mean nothing. We were all barefoot, sleeping on rags on the fucking floor, stealing to eat. The kids all got so thin”. Polly turned away, trying to calm her breathing.

“What happened?” asked Eddie quietly.

“Jane got ill. Couldn’t keep her jobs, and I was too young for anyone to take me seriously. Charlie had blown all his money on a bigger yard, and my brother was off drinking himself to death in Ireland. There was no one to help”.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked quietly. They hadn’t spoken about this before. Eddie only knew she’d been ill for a long time, and clearly it was a sensitive subject.

“We still don’t know…not really anyway. She’s always tired, and not eating makes her weaker. She’s in constant pain, the last doctor thought it was her joints, but the one before said it was just stress from labour. But Ada’s six now, and it’s still no better. We’ve tried everything, I’ve all but given up hope of a cure”.

“Has she?”. Polly’s smile, though fleeting, gave Eddie a shred of hope. He could make this alright again, couldn’t he?

“No. She’s a fighter, our Jane” her eyes hardened. “But this isn’t about her. If we go back to that time it’ll be you that’s caused it”.

“I know” he said, “I know. I’m going to get the rest back Polly, I will”.

“How?” she demanded. “Not from those friends of yours?”. Eddie swallowed, and Polly scoffed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you”.

“They’re getting it back, Pol, they’re good people”.

“Good people?”. Her voice had risen again. “You need to get out while you can” she said. “They’re going to pull you in, and then you’ll be stuck. If you owe them money, it’s already too late”.

“It’s under control” Eddie insisted. “Just trust me”.

“I can’t” said Polly, biting her lip. How naïve she was to think she’d found something special. “I need answers; I need the truth. Not these fucking vague excuses. What happened to the money?”. Eddie sighed, rubbing at his forehead.

“I paid off Arthur’s prison fine”. Silence, then-

“Arthur’s what?”.

“He was arrested, last year. Two boys set him up, it wasn’t his fault. But he had a shed load of money to pay. He didn’t want to worry you, but I found him drunk as anything one night and he told me what happened”. Polly’s mouth fell open, her lipstick now smudged and patchy from biting at her lips.

“He was arrested? He never…he hasn’t said a word”.

“He was scared Pol. They’d have taken him away again, or seized the house. I couldn’t have him worrying he’d put his family out on the streets”. Polly shook her head slowly.

“Why did you lie to me about this? About something this important? If we’re going to be a family, a proper family, you can’t keep things like this from me”.

“I didn’t lie”.

“You let me believe you’d gambled it away, that’s no better Edward”.

“I know” he said. “I fucked up. I’ve really fucked up. Arthur begged me not to tell you, and I _know_ he was planning something. Some way to get the money. A robbery, or something worse. I thought I could help, keep him from ruining his life and still have enough left over for us to get started with ours, but I didn’t”. Polly shook her head slowly in disbelief, something breaking inside her as she thought of her nephew. Their money had gone to him; Eddie hadn’t gambled it away at all.

But then there was the argument, all the shouting, curling up alone in a cold bed. Sweeping up the broken glass the next morning.

“Polly, I’m earning the money back, slowly. Through jobs on the side, and through my friends. They _are_ good people”. Eddie’s voice shook slightly as he spoke again. “I never wanted to hurt you”.

“But you did”. With the way they were looking at each other now, smudged makeup and wrinkled clothing, Polly wondered if this was it. If it was all over.

“Can you forgive me?”.

“I-” she started, suddenly so painfully unsure. He’d done it for Arthur. But he’d also lobbed a glass at her head. The silence was deafening, panic rising on Eddie’s face.

“I’m sorry, Pol. Please. I’m so sorry”. He’d sunk to his knees now, one arm bracing himself against the carpet as the other covered his eyes. Polly watched him, dark hair spilling over his fingers. He’d done it for Arthur.

When she reached out, his hair was as soft as she remembered it. Eddie wrapped his arms around her waist, face buried in the familiar material of Polly’s dress. Just holding each other. They stayed that way for a long time, and when the tears came Pol didn’t move to stop the dark trails of kohl snaking down her cheeks. She eventually sunk down to join him, and they cried and laughed and drank until they could do nothing but lie there, staring up at the off-white ceiling in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I'd love you know what you think xx


	6. 1904, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shelby’s have got a wedding to go to. Jane’s stressed, Arthur’s angry, Tommy can’t find any smart clothes and Pol just wants to get married in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m not dead - I’ve just been 1) travelling, and 2) hiding in a deep pit of writing despair for three months. 
> 
> Big hugs to the brilliant @weeo who gave me a massive boost of encouragement today <3 
> 
> Also: just to make my chapter titles even more number-y and confusing, 1904 is split into two parts. This is part 1! Please prod me until I post part 2 - I need prodding

Turning over, Tommy groaned at the light streaming in through the window, throwing an arm sleepily across his eyes. He vaguely wondered why the curtains were open; Arthur never bothered with such things, but the thought drifted to the back of his mind, inevitably replaced by Freddie. Most thoughts were these days. They’d gone riding last night, racing up the hills of the pasture before returning to the river, splashing gleefully and dunking each other under the water to the sounds of complaining neighbours and faint police whistles. Tommy only regretted not being able to stay out later, having to creep home around midnight to be back in time for- _oh shit._

Realisation hit, and Tommy’s eyes flew open. He was out of bed in an instant, glancing around the room in a panic. Arthur’s bed was empty. Had they left without him? Why didn’t anybody wake him? Head throbbing from standing up too quickly, Tommy rushed to the door, pulling it open and sagging in relief as voices drifted down the hallway.

Grabbing some socks as he went, Tommy found his siblings gathered by the stairs, all chattering excitedly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked accusingly, taking in Arthur’s smart, albeit moth-eaten suit, and combed hair. John was matching, though his shirt buttons were all done up wrong, and Ada was swishing the skirt of her purple bridesmaids dress. They fell silent as he spoke, his tone jarring the mood. 

“We thought you were already awake” shrugged John, Ada nodding in agreement.

 “Arthur?” said Tommy, his younger siblings taking the chance to escape his accusatory tone and hurrying down the stairs. Arthur hovered behind.

“You’re always telling me you don’t want my help” he said, slightly confused. The expression cleared from his face quickly, and he huffed an irritated sigh. “Just get ready”.

“Arthur-” Tommy started, but fell quiet as his brother ignored him, descending the stairs. Fine.

Tearing back to his room, Tommy ran a hand through his hair. Unlike the others, he hadn’t had the foresight to lay out his suit the night before. Or, more accurately, he’d missed his mother’s lecture about doing so. It became clear rather quickly that his smart clothes had either ceased to exist, or had been stuffed up in some draw to give to John. He went to his brother’s room, pulling open the dresser and rooting around for a suit. He found some grey trousers that looked like they _might_ fit him, and a musty old jacket curled into a ball at the back of the drawer. Sneezing at the smell, Tommy flapped the offending garment about for a moment, trying to bring some life to it, but soon slumped in defeat. He couldn’t imagine the lecture he’d get from Polly if he wore that crumpled old thing to her wedding.

Pulling the trousers on, he peered down, relieved but slightly annoyed that they still fit him. Would he ever grow? Pol had promised him a growth spurt _three_ years ago, and it was yet to arrive in any real force. Heading back into the hall, Tommy felt a sudden pang of sadness as he passed his aunt’s empty room, dark and vacant without the familiar furniture. The boxes had all been packed up in the past few days, shipped off to her and Eddie’s new house on the other side of town. Polly insisted it wouldn’t change a thing, that she’d be round all the time to see them, cook them dinner and read John and Ada a story, but Tommy wasn’t so sure. She was already spending less and less time there, and he saw the looks his new uncle gave her when she insisted on staying late.

Remembering his own lateness, he hurried downstairs in his night shirt and John’s trousers, the jacket trailing behind him. Ada was experimenting with their mother’s lipstick, laughing at the sight of her bright pink messy face in the mirror. Arthur scooped her off the stool she was balancing on, attempting to clean up her efforts as John fiddled with his shirt buttons, trying to align them correctly.

“Arthur, have you wrapped the present?” Jane called from the kitchen.

“John already did it” Arthur shouted back, grimacing at the shoddily wrapped package on the table. Tommy edged past them into the kitchen, avoiding Ada’s reaching pink hands.

Jane was slicing bread at the counter, and despite all the rush Tommy couldn’t stop himself from staring open mouthed at his mother. She was wearing a long navy dress, with little white flowers on the sleeves and her dark hair tied into a braid over her shoulder. The dab of blusher on her cheeks made her look healthier than Tommy had seen her in months, and he broke into a smile.

“Mama?”.

“Yes sweetheart?” she said distractedly, not looking up. He went closer, leaning in for a hug. The day was already so hectic Tommy couldn’t imagine what the actual wedding would be like. He just needed a moment. Jane stopped slicing, dropping the knife with a loud clatter as she looked at Tommy in horror.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” she cried. Tommy faltered, arms hanging awkwardly in front of him as his mother held him at arm’s length.

“I- ”.

“We have to leave in _five minutes_ , what have you been doing all morning?”.

“Arthur didn’t wake me up” he protested, voice small. Arthur’s head appeared around the kitchen door.

“I did”.

“Liar” muttered Tommy. “You _wanted_ me to be late”.

“What the fuck does that mean?”.

“Arthur” said Jane sharply. “Watch your language. Thomas, you’re fourteen now. If John and Ada managed to get dressed and ready on time there’s no excuses for you. You know what an important day it is, I need to be on my feet for hours. I expected you to be more helpful”. Tommy looked at the floor, ashamed. He hadn’t meant to let his mother down, or stay out so late the night before. But with the stupid beautiful summer night and stupid beautiful Freddie, time had run away with him. “What are you still doing here? Upstairs _now_ ”.

Tommy shoved past Arthur on his way out of the kitchen, their shoulder’s knocking together painfully. Following Tommy down the hall, Arthur gave him a hard push, Tommy barely catching himself on the bannisters and rounding on his brother.

“Why did you say you woke me up?” he demanded.

“I’m not getting into trouble because you stay out all hours of the night with _him_ ”. Tommy’s face became stony, and Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “I knew it. I’ve told you to stay away from him Tommy”. He hadn’t been sure then, not for certain, but Tommy’s expression had confirmed it. Anger ripped through him.

“It’s none of your fucking business what I-”

“That’s a bad word” Ada announced. She was peeking through the bannisters, watching the argument below. “Who was Tommy with?”.

“No one” said Arthur, harsher than he’d intended. Ada raised an eyebrow, a perfect miniature of her aunt, before deciding that John poking at the table with his pocket knife was more exciting than her brothers’ disagreement.

“John! Ada!” Jane called, emerging from the kitchen with the bread all sliced and buttered. “Come on, we’ve got to go-”. She stopped at the sight of her second son, still half-dressed and messy haired. “Tommy we don’t have time for this” she said, voice rising slightly in panic. “We _can’t_ be late. Ada’s the bridesmaid for God’s sake”.

“It’s okay mum” said Arthur, taking the bread. Her hands were clammy and cold, _too_ cold for a summer’s day. She pulled them away quickly.

“I’m going to see if your uncle’s arrived. Arthur, just help your brother will you? Fetch him a jacket or something. Honestly”.

“Go and get dressed” he hissed instead, shoving Tommy towards the stairs.

“But I can’t find any bloody clothes. Can you get me a jacket?”.

“You’re so helpless” said Arthur suddenly, the loud outburst taking both him and Tommy by surprise. “I try and help you with stuff, you know, the _big things_ ”. Tommy whipped around, relieved to find the hallway was still deserted. “-And you don’t want to hear it. I try and protect you out there” he gestured, pointing to the window and the city beyond. “And you always find ways to cause trouble. Always in the one place you shouldn’t be. I try and help with you and dad” said Arthur, almost shouting now, “and you _continue_ to pick fights with him. You’ve told me you can handle all of that on your own. But you can’t get your own _bloody jacket._ And guess who’s in trouble for that, ey? _Me_ ”.

Arthur’s voice died away, an uncomfortable silence replacing it. Tommy didn’t speak, just stared. Arthur swallowed, hands twitching at his sides before he stormed through the open front door.

“No sign yet”, their mother was saying.

“Mum, Arthur won’t-” Tommy started.

“Tommy, I don’t want to hear it. Just put something on. I told you I need my strength, I can’t be going up and down the house to look for your clothes”. Another wave of guilt. Tommy fought the urge to cry as he was sent back up the stairs. It took him by surprise slightly; he wasn’t usually the first one in tears, but everyone seemed to be against him that morning. Arthur was angry with him, he’d upset his mother, Pol was moving out. Still, he supposed, it couldn’t get much worse.

 

“When are we leaving?” groaned Ada, swinging her legs on the sofa. Jane, who couldn’t sit still, paced in front of the door, checking the ancient cracked clock on the mantelpiece.

“We should have left already” she sighed, trying not to panic. “Uncle Charlie’s going to pick us up in the cart, but God knows where he’s got to. John Shelby don’t even think about it”. John pouted, but snapped his pocket knife back into its holder, another leg of the table remaining unharmed for the time being. “And no, you’re not taking that to the wedding, give it to me”.

“Why’s he late?” said Ada.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon”. She wasn’t sure at all. Though she’d tried so hard to make the day perfect for her sister-in-law, it was all falling apart around her. Her hands were stayed from worrying at her dress by the familiar trundle of her brother’s cart down the lane. At that moment she could have sobbed in relief, and there was a general rise in spirits as the Shelby’s rushed for the door.  

“Where in God’s name have you been?!” Jane asked as Charlie pulled the cart up outside the house.

“I thought it was tomorrow” he huffed, hurrying to lift Ada up onto the back. “And then the invitation was right there on the table-”

“Tomorrow? Who has a wedding on a Monday you-”

“Yes okay, I know, I know” said Charlie, raising his hands in defence. “But I’m here now, and we’ve got plenty of time!”. Jane gave him a deadpan look. “ _Some_ time”, he amended sheepishly.

“Come on, quick quick” she called, gripping hold of the wooden posts.

“Careful mum” said Arthur, wincing as she struggled up onto the cart. She collapsed onto the bench gratefully, joints throbbing and knuckles white where she gripped her son’s hand. Charlie paused.

“Are you okay? Is it your hip again? Or your-”.

“It’s fine Charlie, just go. _Quickly_ ”.

“Go, go go!” cried John. It was always fun to ride in the cart, especially in the summer, the warm breeze dancing through their hair as the horse cantered down the lane. Jane allowed herself to relax slightly as they rounded the corner, looping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and admiring how grown up and handsome her two boys were looking in their smartest suits. _Hang on a second-_

“Stop, stop!” she cried. “Where’s Tommy?”. Arthur spun around.

“I thought he was-”

“Turn around!” Jane called, Charlie pulling the cart to a stop.

“Are we going to be late?” said Ada fearfully.

“No” Charlie insisted, craning his neck as if his missing nephew would appear at a different angle.

“He was right behind me” said Arthur, mystified. He must have stayed in the house. Bloody hell.

“Aunt Pol’s going to go mad” said John.

“Yes, that’s not particularly helpful darling” said Jane, hastily moving down to the end of the cart. Too hastily.

“Mum, don’t-” started Arthur, reaching out, but she was already dropping down onto the ground below.

 

Panting, Tommy appeared around the corner. His stomach dropped as he saw his mother pushing herself up from the ground, crying out as she took a step. Charlie was there in an instant, grimacing before lifting her as best he could back onto the cart. The children watched mournfully as she cradled her ankle, their perfect day crashing around their ears.

“On you get, son” said Charlie gruffly, patting the wood. Tommy clambered on reluctantly, clipping the side in place but making no move to shuffle closer to the rest of his family. Met with several accusing stares he shifted in his seat, attempting to tug down the sleeves on his ill-fitting jacket. Forced to use the musty old thing found in John’s room, Tommy resigned himself for a day of tutting and probably a smack round the head when Polly saw what state he was in.

“Are you okay mum?” asked Arthur. Jane straightened up as best she could, smiling to cover the rush of nausea.

“I’m fine Artie. Just a little bruise”.

“Do we need to go to the hospital?” asked Ada.

“No” said Jane, before Charlie could have a say in the matter. “We’re going to go to this damn wedding, and we’re going to give your aunt the best day she’s ever had”.

 

Through some miracle or another, they made just in time. Polly had chosen a grass clearing in the country for the wedding, near Eddie’s family home. Decorated with bunting hanging between wagons, it made for a beautiful setting in the warm morning light.

With the exception of Ada, the Shelby’s gathered at the front of the crowd, Charlie and Arthur supporting Jane between them. There was a throbbing in her ankle; sharp and insistent, and her knee joints were also protesting at all the movement, but despite this she was determined to see the day through. She couldn’t ruin it for Polly. Leaning on Arthur’s arm, she felt a sudden surge of pride at how strong he was, how much he’d grown in the past few years. He was seventeen now, almost a man. 

“Look at you” she said, managing to straighten his lapels one handed. “So handsome”.

“ _Mum_ ” Arthur groaned, but was unable to help a smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” whispered Charlie. “You don’t need a doctor?”. The blusher on her cheeks masked how pale she’d become, but Charlie knew his sister well.

“I’m fine” she insisted. “Just…maybe fetch me a chair”. John ran off to complete this task, and Tommy busied himself by poking at the grass with his foot. He _knew_ it was his fault his mother was injured. Everything seemed to be his fault today. But apologising in front of Arthur? He had to speak to his mum alone, she’d understand then, that he hadn’t meant it. Whatever the intent however, the action was still the same.

 

Taking her brother’s hand, Polly stepped out of the cart onto the grass below with a smile, arranging her dress around her, heart warming as she saw the painted wagons and wildflowers in the field. Arthur Snr nodded to the driver, who trundled off back down the lane with a coin in his pocket. They had a while, twenty minutes or so, to appreciate the view, waiting for the rest of the guests to arrive. Polly watched the small figures in the valley below, and wondered which was Eddie. Her brother cleared his throat.

“Give us a spin then” he said. Polly was half expecting him to make some comment, some jibe, but so far none had come. She knew he didn’t entirely approve of the marriage - mainly because they hadn’t asked for his permission, but Jane had managed to talk him round. Soften him into acceptance, if not approval. After all, a steady job and a loving family to marry into was more stability than he’d ever had. Polly obliged his request, though couldn’t pretend she wasn’t enjoying herself as she spun around, dress fanning out. It had been their mother’s; high collared and lacy, hugging at the waist and trailing all the way down to her feet. A veil flowed behind her, clipping into her ornate bun and framing her face beautifully. Red lipstick completed the look, and she wore a bracelet of Jane’s around her wrist where the sleeves ended.

“Quite something you’ve grown up to be, ey?” said Arthur. Polly gave him a small smile, looking back to the valley quickly. Her fingers pressed against the palms of her hands, the big-day nerves she’d been supressing almost bubbling over at the sight of all the tables and chairs, people rushing about below them. “I know you think I wasn’t around much to look after you, Pollyanna”. She raised an eyebrow.

“ _I_ think?”. Arthur sighed.

“I might not have been at home, but I’ve always tried to do what’s best for you. Starting a business, sending money back-”.

“Arthur, don’t start” said Polly, grimacing. Despite insisting that she didn’t get nervous, a recap of her brother’s failed business ventures would surely push her over the edge.

“Polly- listen” he said, taking her hands. She swallowed, meeting his gaze. “I know I wasn’t around, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you”. Polly didn’t need the words; she wasn’t ten years old anymore wishing her big brother would come home, and couldn’t quite shake the lingering trepidation that Arthur was tricking her in some way. But she appreciated them nonetheless.

It felt like a goodbye, and Polly beamed as she headed down the hill, dress flowing out behind her as she ran towards her new life.

 

A dusky purple had spread over the sky, lanterns and candles lighting up the scene as people danced and weaved through the darkened field. No one had much to spare by way of money, but the tables were laden with an ample amount of food, including more cakes and confectionaries than the Shelby children had ever seen outside of a bakery. The music was lively, fiddles striking up a quick tune and people were soon gathering round to dance. In a quieter corner of the field, Polly plopped down beside her sister-in-law, letting out an exhausted laugh and taking in the night sky.

“Happy?” Jane asked. Her legs weren’t paining her as badly as she feared they would, but she thought it better to rest them. Tomorrow would likely be a different story.

“Happy” Polly confirmed. Jane gestured at her husband, who was currently holding two different bottles and trying to tell a complicated story of his own magnificence at the same time.

“I’m sorry about all the-”

“Stop” said Polly, grinning. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for”.

“But you’ve had a good day haven’t you? Was the dress okay? And your hair? You look so beautiful I can hardly take my eyes off you”. Polly laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Jane wasn’t done though. She worried too much, that was her problem. “And you like the decorations? And the music? What about the food? I was so worried about getting here on time I didn’t have time to think about anything else”.

“It’s all perfect, really” said Polly. “Thank you. For everything”. Jane gave her a fond smile, and Polly hugged her close.

“You better go” said Jane. “Ada’s got a stick and she’s heading for her brothers”.

“Oh God” said Polly, pressing a hasty kiss on Jane’s cheek in goodbye. Thankfully, she managed to catch Ada and wrestle the large branch from her niece before she could inflict any stick related injuries. By the time Eddie grabbed her hand and whisked her away to a quiet spot behind a wagon, she’d gotten three lectures in: one about cigarettes, one about their clothing and one about fighting. Tommy seemed to be the main culprit on all three counts, though his sister was a force to be reckoned with; especially when there were sticks involved.

“Eddie, what-” she cried, as the bright lights and crowd fell out of sight.

“I can’t wait any longer” whispered Eddie, grinning as he held her close. “Let’s just say fuck it all and go now”.

“We can’t just disappear” she laughed back, quieting as his mother passed by their hiding place.

“We can if nobody sees us” he countered, leaning in for a kiss. He had a point, thought Polly, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck. Her _husband_.

Yeah, she decided. Fuck it all.

 

“Stop taking my fucking cigarettes” said Arthur, once their aunt had vanished. Tommy scowled at him.

“It wasn’t yours”. In actual fact, it _was_ Arthur’s; he was the easiest to steal from, but he didn’t need to know that. Deciding he’d rather skulk around the edge of the reception than talk to anyone, Tommy slipped away from his siblings. He caught a glimpse of two figures in the distance, running up the hill, a veil flying behind one. That was that then. Pol was gone. It was hard not to feel morose and sorry for himself, with all the events of the day. Kicking viciously at another poor clump of grass, Tommy continued along the outskirts of the party, until an arm landed heavily around his shoulders, steering him towards the lights and music.

“Tommy!” his father exclaimed, voice loud and slightly slurred as he gripped his shoulder. “Come over here and have a wrestle with your old dad, ey?”. He smelled strongly of alcohol, and Tommy wrinkled his nose.

“Aunt Pol said no fighting”.

“Polly’s not here” Arthur countered, releasing him but stepping in front of Tommy deliberately when he tried to move to the side. “And you haven’t been down to the ring in a while. Why’s that then? Too busy-” he snorted “-picking fuckin’ daisies or whatever it is you do?”.

_Avoiding you_ , Tommy thought, but said nothing. His mother always said his cleverness (or his smart mouth, as Polly called it) would get him killed. More than anything tonight he just wanted to be left alone. Arthur, clearly growing bored with his son’s lack of response, rolled up his sleeves.

“Come on” he goaded. Tommy watched his fists warily. When he was drunk, his father’s aim was usually off, but he hit harder. What few inhibitions he possessed were all washed away with drink, and he didn’t care who saw the bruises. Nobody would say anything.

Arthur lashed out, missing Tommy’s face by a few inches. Tommy took advantage, turning and sprinting towards the crowd, hoping to be swallowed up before his dad lunged again. He smacked into his brother’s chest, stumbling backwards and landing hard on the ground. Arthur Jnr let out a surprised yelp, and held out a hand to Tommy before recognition hit. Half retracting it, he shook his head.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he demanded.

“Arthur, it was an accident, I didn’t mean-” Tommy’s air was cut off as his father grabbed the back of his collar, wrenching him to his feet.

“You’re a fucking disgrace, you know that?”. Tommy grabbed at his throat, fingers tearing at the fabric choking him. “No son of mine runs away from a fight”. Tommy gritted his teeth. He was one to talk about running away. How many times had he abandoned them? A well placed kick to his father’s shin sent Tommy crashing to the ground again, spitting out a blade of grass as he scrambled backwards, Arthur towering over him.

“Get up. Fight like a man”.

People were stopping to watch now. The dancers were faltering and the violinist missed a few notes, drawing attention to the disturbance. Tommy caught sight of his mother just as his father’s boot came down on his nose, the crunch loud and sickening.

“Pathetic” said Arthur, spitting into Tommy’s hair before turning away. Tommy clutched at his nose, eyes squeezing shut as the shouting started. He could feel the crowd ebbing and flowing around him, but when Tommy opened his eyes again he found the masses had followed his parents a short distance away, screaming at each other on the hillside with Uncle Charlie between them.

One of the tables had been knocked over, old family crockery scattered across the grass. He was glad Polly wasn’t here to see it. Reaching up, Tommy almost gagged in revulsion as his fingers slid through his father’s spit, uselessly attempting to wipe it away. He swivelled to where his older brother had been, but Arthur was gone, leaving Tommy small and alone on the hillside. Hunching over, his blood dripped steadily onto the grass. _Pathetic._ There was a rustle beside him, and his little brother regarded him warily.

“Tommy?”.

“It’s late John” said Tommy, voice muffled. “You should be at home”.

“Nuh uh. Dad said I could stay”. He smiled proudly, but it faded as he remembered his question.

“Tommy, why didn’t you try?”.

“I did try” said Tommy, pushing himself off the ground and wiping his face, starting off down the slope.

“No you never” cried John, running after him. “Arthur says you do it on purpose”. Tommy stopped.

“Do what on purpose?”.

“Make dad angry. Then he hits you and then-” John frowned, trying to remember. “Then it makes dad look bad, ‘specially when you don’t try. But he’s not bad, not really. That’s what Arthur says”. Tommy pressed a hand to his face again, though it had less to do with stemming the blood and everything to do with the stinging in his eyes.

“Go home, John” he muttered, breaking into a run. Soon the shouting had faded away, but Tommy didn’t want to stop. He kept running, right across the field, and over the fence they’d been told not to go beyond. Instead of grass, Tommy trampled over growing vegetables heart racing when a light flicked on in the farmhouse. Vaulting over the next fence, his shoe caught on a nail. Ripping, the material fell away, lost somewhere to the lettuces below.

Tommy came to a clumsy stop, but a door had creaked open and the farmer was really coming now, so he left it. It was ancient anyway. Wouldn’t last till the winter. He slowed to a walk two fields over, a dark thicket of trees separating him from the dirt track that led to the city. It was hardly a forest, but Tommy supposed he could still get lost in there. It would be nice, that. Disappearing.

Leaning heavily against a trunk, Tommy slid down the rough bark until his knees hit the ground. The tears came easily, after such a long time keeping them at bay. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed at the base of the tree, head in his hands and shoulders wracked with sobs as the city lights flickered off in the distance.

_Pathetic._

Something was poking into Tommy’s side, and he eventually shifted, pulling some folded paper from his inside jacket pocket. Opening the crumpled sheet, he found it to be some sort of shipping form. It was hard to read in the dark, but he squinted, making out an address at the bottom. Some place in Camden.

He almost tossed it aside then, let the chilly night breeze carry the meaningless paper across the hillside, but his fingers brushed over something. A hard indent of some letters, pressed through from the other side. Turning the paper over, a pencil scrawl stared back at him.

A. S.

Reaching into his trouser pocket, Tommy pulled out a penny. It wasn’t real of course, Arthur had made some for him a few years ago, out of thin scraps of wood he’d attempted to carve into circles. To pretend. Tommy still liked to fiddle with them, flick them into the air. He’d picked it up that morning, just out of habit, but now it would be useful.

It wasn’t weighted like a proper coin, but it still landed one side or the other. Heads or tails. Should he or shouldn’t he. Tommy’s gaze slid back to the address at the bottom of the page.

He balanced the coin on his thumb, heart thudding in his chest. Could he really do this?

Tommy took a deep breath, before flipping it high into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope this come-back from the writing despair wasn't too terrible, and that you enjoyed! x

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)


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